


The Beginners' Guide to Tom Waits

by MaryFlanner



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Art, Bad Decisions, Bad Jokes, Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, M/M, Music, Recreational Drug Use, Tom Waits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-02-14 20:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2201325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryFlanner/pseuds/MaryFlanner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Eugene as they become Jack&Eugene. Soundtracked by Tom Waits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Earth Died Screaming

**Author's Note:**

> The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whPzJbntlnY
> 
> I will be posting on Mondays to hopefully make them a little less blue. Tomorrow I will unscrew the formatting.
> 
> Many plots points compliments of Nielrian. Many corrections compliments of What Larks. 
> 
> NOTE: This is the most violent chapter and the most graphic scene is short (and not very graphic really). If you want to skip it, I have starred the beginning and end.

Everything hurt. Everything. His back, his head, his stomach. His head. He pried his eyes open, sensing someone standing over him, breathing hard enough to be heard over the music still blasting through the rave’s sound system.

“Come with me if you want to live.”

Jack just kept staring at the hand stretched out to him, trying to understand how, exactly, the sun got all morningish when clearly a few minutes ago it had been kind of orangey dusk.

“What? Is the party over?” he asked the silhouette holding… a pipe? Covered in blood?

Oh. Green pills. Right.

 

_Jack’s been dancing for hours and is, at last, beginning to feel it in his legs. He slows a little and feels a hand drag along the back of his neck. He can’t hear her over the music, but reads her lips: Come with me. He follows her into the edge of the woods in a daze. From the music, from tiredness from...other things._

_“What is it, Lil?” he asks._

_“You know what I want,” she purrs, pulling her shirt off over her head and dropping it behind her. She settles on to the ground and raises an eyebrow._

_“Naughty girl,” Jack says, pulling a marker from his pocket._

_She squeals quietly as he settles astride her._

_“What are we going for this time? Flowers? Stars?”_

_“Dragons!” she answers, trying to stay still._

_Jack laughs, uncaps the pen, and begins to sketch the outline across her belly._

_“You owe me,” he says._

_“What,” she laughs, “Getting personal with my bubbies isn’t payment enough?”_

_Jack smiles. “If anyone’s could have given me a rise, it’d have been yours, love.”_

_He’s getting relaxed and warm. The evening sun is starting to drop shadows onto his work, so he draws faster, silent except for the conversation he’s having with himself and his pen. A happy shriek and heavy, clumsy steps through the woods distract him and he looks up to see a giggling girl being carried over the shoulder of an unsteady young man. Jack pauses and stares until the man sees him._

_“You’re next, Holden!” he calls with a wink._

_With a heavy breath, he looks back down to Lily’s stained skin, moving a little slower._

_“Oh Jackie,” she coos, cupping his cheek. “Don’t. He’s an arse. Not worthy of your beautiful face.”_

_Jack rolls his eyes. “Psh. ‘S nothing.”_

_Lily slaps his thigh and rolls out from under him. “Here,” she says, pulling a plastic baggy from her pocket. “It’ll be nothing soon enough.”_

 

*“Just...come on!” the silhouette said, stepping across him and swinging the pipe into the head of something dreadful wearing Lily’s bra. The thing dropped to the ground. It stared at Jack across a few inches of leaves, saliva, and loam, passively waiting for a blink that’s never going to come.

Jack gasped.

Jumping up this quickly with god only knows what still seeping through his bloodstream hit him hard and made him step backward into a pile of horrid stinking used-to-be-human (random human, maybe not human, definitely not his Lily) something. He grabbed a handful of warm plaid, leaned over, and vomited up everything he’d ingested since his first Christmas.

When his stomach was clear (and after a few more minutes of painful dry clenches for good measure), Jack wiped his mouth on his arm, stood up straight, and said with only a trace of a slur, “Where we going?”

Stomping through the woods is the worst trip he’d ever had, and that included the time he took three tabs and started scrutinizing the Captain Fantastic LP cover. That was not good at all. But this was a whole new level of bad. There were all these things that look like his friends from the rave, but they’re all grey and stenchy, but not field stenchy--actual rotting corpse stenchy. Not that he knew what a rotting corpse smelled like, personally. He’s just kind of guessing based on roadkill. And then, his trip guide (who’s kind of dishy in a soft, pale way) kept hitting those things with his pipe. With the undead shells of humans being taken out by a literal pipe, Jack was deeply disappointed with his subconscious’ laziness at concocting symbolism.

“Yes yes no more drugs,” he muttered. “Play some Ed Sheeran now why don’t you.”

The guide, who was dragging him along by the wrist, stopped and looked at him. “What?”

“I said I get it,” Jack sighed. “No more drugs. Can we stop now? This is a bit much, don’t you think?”

His guide let go of him and stared for a moment. “Wait...do you…Do you think you’re dreaming?”

“Well, I mean, who’s to say what is ‘real’ and what isn’t? Isn’t the spirit world just as ‘real’ to the dreamer as the--”

“What’s your name?” his guide asked abruptly but with a kind of sympathetic gentleness Jack found oddly disturbing.

“Jack?” Jack asked.

“Hi, Jack. I’m Eugene. Do you know how long you’ve been out here?”

“Well…,” Jack began. “We came out on, um, Thursday I think? So two days?”

“Three. It’s Sunday. How long were you asleep?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said, losing his air a little. He’d never felt this grounded during a trip before. It’s almost like he’s completely sober, if a little hung over. But clearly not. Clearly.

“Couple hours? I came out for a lie down about five in the evening.”

Jack didn’t know that sadness and frustration could exist at once, but there it was on his guide’s face.

“Jack, it’s seven a.m. You’ve been asleep for thirteen hours.”

Well then. Quite the disco nap.

“Listen,” Eugene said in a voice both soft and firm. And shaking. That’s...not right Spirit guides don’t get scared. That’s kind of the point of them, isn’t it?

“Something’s happened,” Eugene sighed and seemed to try to collect himself. It’s terrifying and disorienting and...beautiful. “There’s...there’s been a virus or...something…and--”

“You’re real,” Jack blurted, mouth outrunning his brain. “I’ve never wanted to shag my spirit guide before. And he’d also never be American.”

By the slack-jawed look on Eugene’s face, Jack surmised that he’d said that out loud.

“Okay, first of all, I’m Canadian, and--”

But over Eugene’s shoulder, Jack saw something familiar. He’s drawn away with a sort of hysterical need to touch something that makes sense.

“Daley!” Jack called. He grinned back at Eugene. “It’s my mate, Daley. Come meet him.”

“Jack--” Eugene warned.

“Hoy! Daley! Not looking good, brother. You get into what I did? I tell you--”

“Jack!” Eugene called, more urgently as Daley turned. Caught in the mass of rubber and hemp bracelets were small fingers ending in purple nails, dragging a tattooed arm along behind.

He’d tried--god help him he tried --to make sense of this. But Daley was grey and groaning and there’s just nothing in his eyes and oh god what is it?

“What’ve you got there? Is that...?”

Jack stopped dead, staring down at the detached arm.

“That’s...it’s Yishara’s…” Jack lost his breath, choked on his own horror . “Daley, what have you done?”

Jack felt an arm wrap around his waist from behind and start walking him backward, just slow enough that they didn’t trip.

“It’s not Daley anymore, Jack.” Eugene sounded so sad, Jack wondered if he knew Daley, too.

He didn’t fight. He just kept walking backward until he felt himself spun around and shoved in the center of his back.

“Run,” he heard. So he did.

After a few breathless meters, Jack heard a wet thud and something falling into the leaves. He turned around and immediately regretted it.*

 

_“Come back,” Jack whines, stretching out an arm. “What’ve you got better to do than me?”_

_Daley pulls his shirt over his head on the way out of the room._

_“Sorry, Jack,” he calls, pulling his trousers out of the kitchen. “I’m meeting Yishara in an hour.”_

_He sits heavily next to Jack on the bed and leans in to press a playful kiss to his forehead. “And some of us actually bathe.”_

_Jack freezes in the midst of reaching for the half-burned joint on the night stand. He feels cold and numb and a little sick. “Shara?” he asks, as evenly as he can._

_Daley’s smile falters into comprehension, then pity._

_“Oh Jack,” he says gently, like he’s talking to a child. “I thought...I mean I thought you knew it wasn’t…”_

_“Does Shara know?” he tries not to spit._

_“Of course she does,” Daley says, pulling the blanket up a little higher around Jack’s waist. “She has a bit of fun, too.”_

_Well, at least Jack doesn’t have to feel guilty. At least._

_Daley wraps his arm around Jack’s waist. With his other hand, he retrieves the abandoned cigarette, lights it, takes a drag, and hands it off to Jack. “I’m sorry, mate. I thought we were sorted. We’re cool, though? Now?”_

_Jack snorts. “Of course.”_

_“It won’t happen again--”_

_“Go.” Jack forces a laugh. “Get out of my flat, you bloody slag.” He hears Daley’s answering laugh as the door opens._

_Jack stares at the wall smokes._

 

“I am so, so sorry,” Eugene said. “I am so sorry. I--”

There’s only a small movement behind Eugene, but it was enough to send Jack sprinting. As a mangled, braceleted hand wrapped around Eugene’s ankle, Jack brought his boot down on Daley’s (not Daley’s, its. its its its) head.

“Oh my god,” Eugene gasped. “Jack, thank you, I...” But Eugene didn’t finish. In the silence afterward, a song wrapped its way through the woods, into Jack’s brain, and around his guts. That song became the moment Jack Holden turned into something else. He turned to face Eugene completely changed. He was calm, tense determined. He’d seen himself do a shadow of this on the cricket pitch. Everything narrow and clear, his body loosely wound into readiness so intense he felt like he would rip through his own skin.

“I know where we need to go,” Jack said.

 

 

They found the vans on the other side of the small wood in a field striated with muddy tracks. There were two of them, and upon seeing their condition, Eugene saw Jack’s confident march falter and slump. The vans were beyond salvage. One was turned onto its side, windows smashed, and debris trailing from its opened back doors. The other was upright, but was missing two wheels and a steering column.

“Oh,” he heard Jack say with a startling laugh. “Well. I don’t know what I was expecting. There were five, but I guess…I guess I’m glad someone got out of here.”

Eugene sighed, his thoughts far less charitable.

In the overturned van, they found a couple of backpacks, a crate of bottled water, condoms, drugs, clothes both outlandish and practical (the sequined tank top they left, the jeans and t-shirts they took), more condoms, a torn sleeping bag, a tent that’s too heavy to lug comfortably, more drugs, energy bars, and buckets of ephemera. Jack slowly started filling one of the backpacks with impractical notions--photos, a cheap necklace, paint, a leather bracelet, a plastic dinosaur--examining each one and chattering to himself about who they belonged to. Eugene felt his chest tighten with impatience.

“Leave that stuff,” he said in a tone he immediately knew fell just short of barking. “We’re not going to need it. It’s just more weight.”

“Okay, but I know whose these are, they’re going to want--”

“They’re not going to want anything, Jack, they’re probably dead! Now help me find things we can use and let’s go. Before it gets dark.” Eugene winced and bit his lip. It had to be said. Just...maybe not like that.

Jack sat back on his heels and breathed slowly. “Look,” he said. “I don’t know you. You’re just another bossy American who thinks he’s, he’s...he’s Rick Grimes or something. These?” He holds out a flyer advertising a DJ--a young, pretty woman wearing welder’s goggles and cat ears, “are my friends. And we’re sorting through their belongings, not sticking up the bloody Tesco. This isn’t just stuff, okay?” He reached back in and pulled out a broken rubber sandal with a design of distorted skulls drawn onto it. “I drew these shoes. I drew them three weeks ago before shagging the guy they belong to, and then I stomped in his head this morning to save you. He’s dead. I left them. This?” He held out bracelet from his bag. It shook with the trembling of Jack’s hand. “This belongs on that arm he was dragging. She may be alive out there and I would really like to give it back to her because Daley gave it to her for her birthday. And since I killed him--”

Jack froze and choked on a sound that was something between a heave and a sob. “Oh god, what’s happening?”

Eugene felt his fingertips tingling with shame. He would have made the same choices if he were home. He probably would have made the same choices two days ago. He’d always been stuck here, between efficiency and compassion, and had often failed. Just not so spectacularly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sitting. “Can I…?” He placed a cautious hand between Jack’s shaking shoulder blades. “Let’s just sit here a sec, okay? I’ll...I’ll tell you what’s been going on.”

 

_“I know, Dad. I will. I’ve already got enough for a few days...of course...I know...you be careful, too. Dad? I’ve got another call. I’ll call you back as soon as I get there, okay? Bye._

_Hello?”_

_Eugene throws the duffel bag of water, bandages, and food into the trunk of his rental next to the suitcase from the hotel and slides into the drivers’ seat. He checks the address on the hotel stationary and types it into the GPS._

_“Oh hey, Jordan,” he says, and cringes at the way his voice goes lighter. Three dates, don’t get cheesy. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m going to stay out in Nottingham until this blows over. You staying in Vancouver? … Yeah, that’s probably true. The bugs would probably kill you before the flu did.”_

_He passes three petrol stations, each with longer lines than the last and decides to keep going. By the time he hangs up the phone (“Okay, stay safe. Later.”) the stations have gone from crowded to deserted, signs apologizing for the empty wells. Eugene’s anxiety grinds around and around in his belly, up his chest, into his throat as the number of cars abandoned begins to outnumber those still moving. He tries to call his friend in the cabin. Voicemail. He tries again, but this time, he gets a message saying all the towers are overloaded. Later, when the car sputters to a stop in the middle of a silent road, he tries again and listens as the other end rings and rings and rings. When he hangs up, the growing dark is silent but for the rustle of leaves and distant groans. With a shaking breath and the certainty that he will not see another sunrise, he locks the doors and waits for morning._

 

He chronicled the outbreak and his subsequent walk as casually as he could, shoving distance into the space in his chest he knew the horror was trying to occupy. By the time he caught up to the rave (“...then I stumbled over some idiot asleep in a field and here we are”), they were leaning against the roof of the van, Jack dry-eyed and smiling faintly, Eugene drained of the last of his anger.

“You feel ready to try the other van” Eugene asked.

Jack jumped to his feet, all traces of fear or sadness completely erased, replaced by a dimpled grin that almost, but not quite, reached his eyes. Eugene felt a little breathless, a little confused.

“Indeed I am! I will say, though, I think this is Alicia’s van, so if you find a tub of Jelly Babies in there, do not eat them. They’re not from the sweets shop, if you understand.”

“What do you think” Jack asks. “Good weapon?” He’s holding...something like a paddle? He’d heard a joyful cry of “W.G.!” from inside the van while he was sorting supplies into definitelys, maybes, and absolutely nots. The van, despite being stipped for parts, was relatively untouched inside. He wondered if it had something to do with the bright smear of gore clinging to the gear shift.

“Maybe?” Eugene answers. “Can you get any force behind that...thing?”

Jack cocked an eyebrow and smirked in a way that, were it not the end of the world, Eugene would have felt challenged to wipe off his face, one way or the other. Jack’s wrist barely moved as he flicked the weapon around his hand, into an upward grip. With a stroke like he was parting water, or gesturing to introduce an accompanying royal, he swung the narrow edge of the bat into the van hard enough to split the paint. “I thinks so. Maybe.”

Eugene allowed for just a split second of awe before dragging it back down to cool. He’d been worried about Jack tagging along. He seemed like such liability--so young, so mercurial, so utterly soaked in illegal chemicals. But beyond that nagging basic human decency that would have made Eugene drag him along anyway, this was really something useful. Very, very...useful. He coughed. “Yeah...yeah, I’d say you’ve got the hang of it.”

Jack was insufferably pleased with himself. He didn’t even try to stay clamped down to match Eugene’s aloofness, but had on a face-splitting grin that Eugene, despite his best efforts, would like to wipe off in a very clear way.

When everything was packed as efficiently as possible, they stood looking up at the bright, grey sky.

“Where were you heading?” Jack asked, blinking up into the glowing clouds.

Eugene watched him for a moment, measuring out his options. Tell the truth? That he didn’t know? That he was lost? Jack squinted over at him patiently after a long silence.

“I...I’m not sure. I don’t...really know this area. Do you…?”

Jack scowled down at the bat in his hands and said hesitantly, “Well, I’ve got a mum. And she’s...I can’t imagine how she’s doing in this. I want… I mean, if she’s safe. I’d…” He sighed and let it hang. “I just need to know.”

Eugene nodded and pulled his pack on. “Well okay. We’ve got a few hours before dark, and I’m sure we can find someplace to stay the night before then. Which way?”

“North,” Jack said. “You coming?”

Eugene shrugged. “Might as well. I mean, you kind of owe me one. Might as well hang around and cash it in.”

Jack laughed, walking backward toward the dirt path the vans had followed in. “I owe you? Are you sure you didn’t eat some of the Jelly Babies?”

His eyes were so bright that Eugene just kept looking, feeling something begin to unspool that felt, in a small way, like the beginning of relief. Eugene shot back something he wouldn’t remember, and Jack’s return volley was less for wit than for the sound of a human voice to fill the heavy air. And for that, Eugene was grateful.


	2. Hang on Saint Christopher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Eugene,” Jack asked as they knocked on the door of a farm house they were pretty sure was empty. “Star Wars or Star Trek?” 
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “If we’re going to be traveling together, I need to know what side you’re on. Star Wars or Star Trek?”
> 
> Wherein Jack asks a lot of questions and Eugene occasionally answers them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBqFq0c1ANU
> 
> Shout out to electricchicken, who, I discovered, ALSO wrote a J+E origin story by the name of "Sarah Connor Never Had to Put Up With This Shit" ages ago, that is pure delight. We have had some of the same thoughts about these boys, which is always fun.
> 
> Also, if anybody knows how to make italics work for large blocks of text, for god's sake, let me know.

As the sun set on Jack’s first day post apocalypse, it became clear that they had severely underestimated the distance between them and, well, anything else. Their packs were too heavy, their sense of direction too bad, and the undead too numerous. They found themselves still hiking out of the woods as darkness fell, so when Jack spotted a large, flat-topped boulder taller than the average zombie, they decided it was a good enough place to sleep.

“You sleep first,” Jack said. “I’ve had plenty of rest.”

Eugene glanced around the greying forest, frowning a little, and answered, “No, you’ve been...You should sleep. Make sure...everything...is out of your system.”

“Really, I’m fine,” Jack insisted. “Nothing I haven’t done a thousand times before.” 

“No, really, you should sleep first.” Eugene’s voice allowed for no argument, and Jack was more than a little surprised. He wasn’t sure what he’d done or why this was becoming a problem. After a few moments of Eugene not meeting his eyes, the realization came with more novelty than hurt.

“You don’t trust me,” Jack said, amused.

Eugene shifted uncomfortably. “Should I?”

Jack laughed. “I dunno. I guess not. It’s just...nobody’s ever said that to me before.”

Eugene looked puzzled. “Really? Everyone you’ve ever met trusted you?”

Jack just shrugged. “Maybe? Or at least they didn’t say anything if they didn’t. ‘Good old Jack,’ they’re always on about. Need a few quid? ‘Oh, Jack’ll spot you!’ Moving house? ‘Oh, Jack’s very strong--played cricket, you know. He’d be happy to help.’ Got love troubles? ‘Oh Jack, I just knew you’d make me feel better. Now let’s not tell anybody.’ Honestly, I think most people think I’m just not clever enough to outsmart them.”

Eugene seemed distracted from sleep and watch and all the rest, focusing fully on Jack, and Jack found himself warming with it.

“Here’s the secret though--” Jack leaned in with an exaggerated glance around for listeners. “They’re right. I’m really not,” he stage whispered.

For the first time since Jack had met him, Eugene laughed, and wasn’t that something? It was a nice laugh, and one Jack knew wasn’t being used near enough. Jack wondered if the whole “end of the world” thing would be a major hindrance in getting him to do it again.

“Listen, Jack,” Eugene said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to sleep. I’m still too wound up from everything. Just...if you can, try to sleep, okay?”

Jack lay back on the rock, wrapped in the sleeping bag, and stared up at the stars. It was, of course, a terrible mistake. The stillness and silence held no barriers to the sounds of the night and, worse, the memories of the day. He closed his eyes and instantly saw a bloodied body, a severed arm, a beloved face, distorted and grey. He’d done this before, though with less reason. When the dark in his mind wouldn’t be kept out, he just had to distract it until he was exhausted enough to pass out.

“Eugene?” he whispered to the back across from him.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me about you?”

Eugene seemed to squirm. “Um...what do you want to know?”

“Where you from?”

“Canada. I’ve been living in Vancouver for a while.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“Work."

"You got somebody there, back in Canada? Someone special?"

When the pause stretched on a little too long, Jack floundered to clarify. "Oh wait no, I'm not trying to....I just. You know what? Never mind. I should sleep."

“You sure?” Eugene asked after a few moments.

Jack blinked, confused. “What?”

Eugene looked back at him with a wicked grin. “Are you sure you weren’t trying? I mean, you did say you wanted to shag me earlier--”

“Wha-- I did no such thing!”

“You did! I woke you up, you followed me around and said I was the first spirit guide you’d ever wanted to shag. Swear.”

“No!”

“Oh yes. Fortunately, I don’t take advantage of my status as an ancient and sage guide to the transcendental. Your virtue remains intact.”

“Does it now? So you’ve got a time machine, then? Care to zip us back a few days? Maybe stock up a bomb shelter on a remote Caribbean island or something?”

“Sorry. I’m not responsible for honor besmirched before I was assigned as your ethereal counselor. It’s in the contract.”

“Ah well. Worth a shot.”

Jack lay back again, grinning, and felt himself begin to drift off.

 

“Jack…Jack wake up. We have to go.”

It was still dark when Jack rubbed his eyes open, and for a minute of utter bliss, he had no idea where he was. He just knew he was being woken up by a guy whispering his name rather urgently.

“Jack come on. There are--oh god--like, five? We’ve got to get out of here.”

As silently as they could, they gathered their things and slid off the side of the boulder opposite the sound of moans and rustling brush. Jack wondered who they were, and he just barely fought down the urge to go see.

They walked cautiously and silently until dawn, breaking onto a proper road as the sky changed from pre-dawn grey to lavender orange. A few straggling zombies appeared and disappeared in the deep woods, but Jack and Eugene crept past them instead of engaging and risking drawing more. It ground Jack’s teeth and set something on fire in his stomach, but he followed anyway. By midday, signs of civilization had become less and less scarce.

“Hey Eugene,” Jack asked as they knocked on the door of a farm house they were pretty sure was empty. “Star Wars or Star Trek?” 

“What?”

“If we’re going to be traveling together, I need to know what side you’re on. Star Wars or Star Trek?”

“Um...Star Trek.”

“Hm,” Jack said, kicking in the door. “Dunno about that. Hallo! Zoms? People with shotguns? Anybody here?” He gestured Eugene in with a curtsey. 

“I’ll just refill our water bottles and we’ll get out of here, okay? Don’t take anything.”

Jack snorted. “A Jedi knight does not steal.”

 

“JACK! Jesus, Jack, I don’t think he’s a threat anymore. Actually, I don’t think he’s even a solid anymore.” Eugene grimaced at the picnic area and the gore Jack had wrought.

Jack blinked for several long seconds, waiting for the adrenaline to fade and for things to get a little less sharp. 

“Sorry,” Jack gasped with a crooked smile. “Got a bit carried away?”

“Where did you even go?” Eugene asked, stepping gingerly around what Jack seemed to remember was a very old man in a parka. “I just said ‘Did you hear that?’ and next thing I know, you’re just gone.”

Jack puffed. “I have the reflexes of a cat.”

“And the brains of a rock,” Eugene answered. “Anyway, you’re burning up a lot of calories we don’t have. Maybe just...get the job done and don’t go all Terminator on them, okay?’

Jack snickered, “Really? I shouldn’t--”

Eugene groaned. “Oh good god.”

“Me? Me not get all Terminator?”

“Shut up, Jack.”

“Aren’t you--”

“Don’t say it--”

“The one who--”

“I swear to god, Jack--”

“Was all--”

“I will gag you with your own--”

“‘Come wif me if you vant to liff.’”

“Socks--really? What was that? Like, vampire Terminator?”

“It was my astonishing Ahhhnold impression. I’ve got more.”

“No.”

“So here’s you--”

“I’m dead serious, Jack. You don’t want to do this.”

“‘Hellooo, I’m Eugene and I’m rally sooohrry aboot thet. Oh fer shure!”

Eugene flicked his pipe into Jack’s thigh just hard enough to sting. 

“Ow!” Jack yelped. “That wasn’t necessary!”

“Maybe,” Eugene said walking ahead. “But you liked it.”

Jack jogged to catch up, aiming the flat side of W.G. for Eugene’s ass. “Yes, but that’s not the point.”

 

“What’s that” Eugene asked, flicking something shiny peeking out of the zipper of Jack’s bag. Two days now. Many zombies. A few frightened, angry people. A couple of missing hours. And lots and lots of walking.

Jack twisted around until he could see. “Oh! I’d forgot! It’s my solar charger.”

“Solar charger? You have a phone?”

“Nah. Just an iPod.”

Eugene froze. “You have what?”

Jack had heard this tone before, but it usually involved fewer zombies and more handcuffs.

“Ipod. Couple thousand songs. You’d probably not like them, they’re mostly--”

“You’ve had music and you didn’t tell me?”

Jack flailed. “I forgot! Kylie Minogue tends to drop on the priorities list when you’re running for your life.”

“You have music and you didn’t tell me.”

“Well, with the hissy fit you had over non-essential items, why would I?” He meant it lightly, as part of their usual banter, but Eugene looked genuinely ashamed.

“I’m really sorry about--”

“Disco. All disco. Every song. Disco.”

Eugene stopped and raised an eyebrow. “Every song?”

“Okay, maybe just lots of it.”

“Maybe you were better not telling me then.”

 

“Hey Eugene. - oof- Gandalf or Dumbledore?” Jack wriggled down from the attic he’d just scaled, trying to retrieve what they thought was a shotgun they’d seen through a gable window. What Jack dropped, instead, was a couple of fireplace pokers.

Eugene scoffed. “That’s the second most cliched question in history. You already asked me the first.”

“Oh, well then, you’ve had time to think about it.”

“No, I haven’t thought about it because there’s nothing to think about. Gandalf. No question. Think these are worth keeping?”

“Nah. Nothing’ll replace W.G. And what do you mean ‘no question?’ I happen to think there’s a big question!”

“Oh come on! Gandalf dies, fights a fell beast through the bowels of Middle Earth and comes out more glorious and powerful than ever. Dumbledore dies and, well, just stays dead.”

“Exactly! He’s mortal so all that brave stuff he does is so much more brave! He’s a hero! Gandalf is just a stodgy old man in need of a bleach.”

“Okay fine--but if you’re stuck in the middle of a zombie swarm, would you want your school’s headmaster or the White Wizard?”

“I dunno. You never met my headmaster.”

Jack’s wasn’t sure what Eugene said under his breath, and was pretty sure it was better that way.

 

Jack bolted up from a dead sleep. “Hey Eugene!” 

Eugene, on watch, jumped to his feet, pipe ready. “Where?” Jack felt a surge of pride in spite of himself.

“No, no. I just had a question.”

Eugene took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “What is it Jack?”

“Well, see, I was just having this dream, right? That this is all a movie. So what if it was? What zombie movie are we in?”

“Are you--”

“No really! Maybe if we figure out which one we’re in, we can figure out how they survived and we can, too.”

Eugene sat back down. “That’s…actually kind of a good point.”

Jack sat up straighter, “Well then--”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Two hours later, Jack was, technically on watch. “...I’m just saying,” Eugene continued, as Jack picked up W.G. and sat by the door. “The 28 Days Later zombies are fast and these zombies are slow.”

“Okay, but the portrayal of England--”

“The portrayal of England doesn’t matter! It could be in, in, in...Bangladesh and the goddamned zombies are still fast!”

Jack sighed and dropped his head against the door frame. “Okay fine. We’re nothing Romero because--because why again?”

“Because we have no guns.”

“Okay, because we have no guns. They’re not Umbrella zombies because, again, no guns, but also because they’re slow. They’re not Nazis, they’re definitely not strippers, they don’t fight sharks, and we can’t agree if World War Z counts as a book or movie. So what’s left?”

They sat in silence, contemplating for a long time before Eugene looked up. “Shaun of the Dead.”

“What? No.”

“No, really! Shaun of the Dead! Two guys, one doofus slacker, and one...slightly less doofus slacker, survive the apocalypse somehow despite being socially awkward and ill-prepared. We even ran into one of your exes.”

“Okay, but he was dead.”

“Details.”

“So...we hole up in a pub and wait for it to stop?”

Eugene shrugged. “Got a better idea?”

“Huh,” Jack said. “I guess not.”

They sat in silence, staring out at the night together in the door.

“I’m Shaun, though,” Eugene said.

“Like hell you are.”

 

“...and in other news, the Canadian Prime minister issued a statement saying that Parliament is officially dissolved and militarized rescue efforts are no longer underway. Citizens are urged to travel to Northern provinces as safety allows and to avoid all major cities. Vancouver remains completely overrun, with--”

Jack felt Eugene sweep away, then heard the door to the cabin close softly. He handed two tins of salmon in payment to the woman, fished out a handful of sweets for the children, and followed.

Eugene was leaned against the side of the cabin staring into an empty distance. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jack leaned next to him, letting the silence get comfortable. He watched Eugene, unmoving expressionless, until he saw Eugene’s hands start to shake and his breath grow shallow.

“Hey Eugene,” he said quietly.

“I said I didn’t--”

“Do you think if Wolverine got bitten by a zom, he’d just, say, shake it off and heal the bite or do you think he’d turn into some sort of immortal super-zombie?”

Eugene stared at him for a very long time. Jack stared back expectantly. If Eugene wouldn’t think about what was happening, Jack reasoned, he needed to think about something.

“Well,” Eugene started slowly. “I think since he has healing factor, and as far as we know the zombies are spreading a virus of some sort, that maybe the area around the bite would go grey for a bit then just...disappear.”

Jack nodded. “Cool.”

He felt Eugene’s eyes on him for a long time before they silently set out again.

 

“HEY EUGENE!” Jack shouted over the sirens of seven crashed police cruisers in the valley below.

“WHAT? WE’RE NOT GOING DOWN THERE.”

“NO, OF COURSE NOT. I JUST WANTED TO KNOW, IF YOU COULD HAVE THE WEAPON OF ANY VIDEO GAME FROM THE PAST TEN YEARS, WHAT WOULD IT BE?”

“I HAVE NO IDEA, JACK. I DON’T PLAY VIDEO GAMES.”

“WHAT? WHY NOT?”

“BECAUSE I HAD A JOB.”

“WELL AREN’T YOU SOMETHING.”

“I REALLY AM.”

“YEAH, YOU REALLY ARE. YOU KNOW, THERE AREN’T THAT MANY--”

“NO, JACK.”

 

“Hey Eugene,” Jack hissed into the dark room behind him. “Eugene, wake up.”

It’d been happening more and more. It always started with a gasp, one that, the first time he heard it, made Jack turn a smirk on his companion with no small amount of jealousy. But then, as Eugene grew restless, the gasps turned to cries, and the cries to quiet sobs.

Jack placed a gentle, firm hand on Eugene’s arm. “Wake up, mate. You’re dreaming again.”

Eugene would never flinch or cry out. He would just open his eyes, curse, and apologize.

“It’s been happening a lot more lately,“ Jack said once Eugene seemed coherent. “Want to tell me about it? May help.”

For the first time, Eugene looked startled. “It’s nothing,” he said in that tone Jack knew meant pushing the issue would lead to defensive snark. “It’s about zombies, what do you think? Why don’t I take watch?”

As tired as he was, he knew not to argue. “Well, who am I to say no to a pre-warmed sleeping bag...fragment.”

He settled back and watched Eugene slump toward the broken window of the tool shack they’d found to sleep in. Eugene never looked at Jack, staring out at nothing.

“Hey Eugene.” He paused for an answer, but it never came. He pressed on. “Do you think if Freddy Krueger killed a zom in a dream, it’d die in real life?”

“Of course not,” Eugene answered flatly. “They’re already dead.”

 

“Hey Eugene!” Jack muttered. It was mid-afternoon, but the creek was so nice and the previous night so long, they had to stop. Had to. It actually made Eugene smile and burned through a little of the fog that had been in his eyes since they’d heard the last news report. Jack wanted to box up this afternoon and carry it away with him.

“Hm?” Eugene was sprawled next to him on the grass, half dozing.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Oh god, why don’t you ask me to choose my favorite child?”

“You have kids?”

“No, Jack. Figure of speech.”

“So?”

“So what? What do you mean? Do you mean favorite cheese? Dessert? Meat? Ethnicity? Side dish? Vegetable?”

“Okay, fine. Vegetable.”

“Leafy green? Tuber? Root? Legume? Seeded? Squash strain?”

“Oh my dear god, you’re one of those insufferable foodie types, aren’t you?”

Eugene grinned, eyes still closed. “Yup.”

“Okay, so, what’s your favorite….um, dessert?”

Eugene thought. “Kheer. It’s Indian--”

“Yes, Eugene, I know what kheer is. I’m English, you know. What about meat?”

“Um…I had this pig in Turks and Caicos once. It was being roasted in the middle of the village, and every now and then, someone would walk up and just hack a piece off with a knife and hand it to you on a plate of peas and rice. It was amazing. And also I was really drunk.”

“What about tea? What’s your favorite tea?”

“Oh oolong, for sure. That’s easy.”

“You take biscuits with it?”

“Of course.”

“What kind?”

“Well, there’s really only one answer to that, isn’t there?”

“What’s that?”

Eugene opened his eyes and locked them with Jack’s. With an exaggeratedly lecherous grin, and more exaggerated growl, he dropped his voice low. “Ginger,” he purred, and laughed until Jack waded into the creek, drenched his jumper, and wrung it out on him.

 

“Well hello there, gorgeous! Didn’t know you were so fit under all that flannel.”

Still too winded and sore to answer, Eugene swatted at Jack’s hand until he moved the not-really-that-cold-anymore pack to the other side of Eugene’s back. After stumbling into a seemingly abandoned shop, looking for supplies, they’d found the shop’s owner in the walk-in cooler. Unfortunately, his response to being asked if he needed help was to deter the “looters” by smashing a section of shelving into Eugene’s ribs. Once they were safe(-ish, Jack amended), Jack helped Eugene out of his shirt to check the damage. After determining that nothing was broken, Jack felt he’d kept his curiosity in check long enough.

Eugene, still unable to speak, just glared.

“And look at all this lovely ink! Want to tell me about them?”

Eugene shook his head.

“That’s all right. I’m pretty good at putting things together. So this one--” he pointed to a design around Eugene’s forearm. “This was when you were going through your body builder phase. Thought you’d get something fake-tribal to look all tough.”

“It’s Inuit you racist prick. I'm half.”

“And here we have--what’s that? Jolly Roger with fork and knife? Seems appropriate enough. A little on the nose, though, don’t you think?” 

Eugene sighed. “You’re going to keep doing this aren’t you? Okay, fine. I was a food critic. If you laugh, I’m going to hit you with my pipe.” Jack filed it away. When he starts getting that far off look of dread, talk about food.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. But that kind of explains a lot. I mean, you did save that packet of noodle season for--”

“Jack,” Eugene said, attempting to sound threatening. But Jack can hear the fondness growing in his voice and see it in his loosening shoulders.

“And this, hm. Some poetry, yeah? You write it for your long lost love?”

“Well, I didn’t write it. But yeah, I guess it sort of is. I got it with an old girlfriend.”

Jack’s stomach dropped, hard. It wasn’t that he’d been thinking about it too much...not really. Not with surviving and all. But still, here they’d been, travelling together, relying on each other...and Jack had so thought the warmth he’d seen flowering in Eugene had something else to it, besides just disaster and someone else to watch the road. He could have sworn he’d seen Eugene’s eyes stay a little too long on his face, seen him smile a little softer, sit a little closer at night. Wishful thinking, he supposed. Nobody could blame him, though.

“Oh. So...so is that why you didn’t answer? Back when I asked you if you had someone at home?”

Eugene shook his head. “No, that’s not why. I’d...I guess I’d been sort of seeing someone before I left. Nothing serious. We just went out a couple of times. I kind of had my doubts, actually. Guess I got out of that talk,” he laughed.

Jack hummed, still a little lost for words.

“What about you? Anybody you--oh god, Jack I forgot. I’m so sorry.”

Jack waved it off. “Oh you mean Daley? Not my boyfriend. Just...a friend. I have--had--lots of friends. Even if I didn’t always know we were just friends.” Before Eugene could say something that would make the conversation worse, Jack quickly asked, “So, got anymore? I think I saw one of the front?”

Eugene considered. “Yeah,” he said with an air of resolve Jack didn’t entirely understand. He stood up slowly, and just above the waist of his trousers, Jack saw what looked like the tops of letters. Eugene took a deep breath and pushed the waistband down a bit. His stomach was olive fair and had flattened over the weeks as it settled into underfed definition. From his left hip bone to under his navel was a line of dark, foreign script. 

“Is that...Greek? What’s it say?” Jack asked as casually as possible. There is nothing sexy about this moment, he reminded himself. Soft skin and tattoos and wispy belly hair be damned.

“Yeah, Greek,” Eugene answered. “It says ‘Enjoy Abundance.’ It’s from a quote, from Epicurus. ‘Not what we have but what we enjoy constitutes our abundance.’ I got it after a breakup, as a reminder. I was with someone...limited in their worldview.”

“Oh,” Jack said, a little thrown. He got that prickly, heavy feeling that something very intimate was happening, but wasn’t exactly sure what. “Was it the girl from your shoulder?”

“No,” Eugene said, holding Jack’s eyes as he sat down. “Not Hannah. Thomas.”

“Oh,” Jack repeated. “Oh. Thomas. Never knew a Thomas that wasn’t a shit. Now Toms, mind you, they tend to be decent fellows. But never a Thomas.”

Eugene still looked uncomfortable, so Jack tried again.

“Hey, Eugene. I got a joke. Got it from a friend at uni. Stop me if you’ve heard it”

“Would you actually stop?”

“No. What’s the worst part of being a bisexual ghost?”

“What’s that,” Eugene answered skeptically.

Jack grinned wide. “Nobody believes you exist. And also you’re a ghost.”

“Boo,” Eugene said and laughed loud enough to catch the attention of some distant shamblers. 

“Better go,” Jack said, jumping up and grabbing W.G. “We’re getting close! I think one of those policemen we took out this morning arrested me once.”

 

“Where the hell were you?” Eugene shouted--actually shouted--at him.

Jack stood confused for a moment. “What?”

“You! Where. Were. You? I go behind the fence to take a leak, and when I come back, there’s no you and three shamblers a couple of meters away.” Eugene pushed his hands into his hair in frustration. “Jesus, Jack! I had no idea what happened to you! I almost got bit because I was too busy looking for you to pay attention to the zom coming up behind me!”

Jack opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of what to say. That’d he’d seen something and had gone before he’d realized he was running? That something happens to him, something he saw shadows of playing cricket, when he had to act fast and all he knows is his own body and pursuit? That he’s just trying to protect Eugene and gets carried away?

“I’m sorry?” he tried.

“You’re sorry?” Eugene laughed bitterly. “You’re sorry. That’s great. Thanks. That totally erases all the times I’ve been scared out of my mind trying to catch up with you. I feel much better now.” He turned and walked swiftly back toward camp.

“Eugene!” Jack called after him. “Wait, I just--”

“Not now, Jack,” he said, not turning around. “Go be a hero and leave me alone for a while.”

Jack stood frozen, terrified, breathless.

“Just be back in an hour so I don’t have to come find your stupid ass in the dark.”

 

“Hey Eugene,” Jack said quietly, pulling out the last two apples for their dinner. He knew where they were, and they were so, so close. By mid-morning tomorrow, they’d be to Jack’s childhood home. They’d only talked about going that far together, and the possibility that they would part ways was very, very real. Nothing bound them at this point, and anyway, if Jack had to stay and take care of his Mum, why on Earth would Eugene stay to play nursemaid until they were inevitably overrun? And if his mum was gone...well, Eugene still had better things to do than patch him up. Eugene--god, Eugene had half a planet to traverse to get home and who knew where that trip started? He was the most afraid he’d ever been.

“Yeah, Jack?” Eugene’s voice was gentle, if a little tight. Jack realized suddenly that the only thing he wanted more than Eugene to stay with him was for for Eugene to be safe.

“Nothing,” Jack said, and pretended to sleep.


	3. House Where Nobody Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Since this started, Eugene had heard terrible things. The echoey, animal groans of the undead. Pleas and cries and sobs and screams from the living and dying. The eerie cackle of a person so far gone into their own horror there’s nothing left in them that’s human.
> 
> But the worst sounds he’d ever heard, before or after, were the soft, stifled noises--tamped-down sobs; heavy, wet inhalations; shaky, bitten back cries on exhalation--coming through the door behind him. He knew Jack was trying to keep it together and it’s all the worse for his restraint."
> 
> Wherein Jack goes home, a stranger goes the distance, and Eugene goes out of his comfort zone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0YxjH09TDU
> 
> FYI: For those of you, like me, who are allergic to WIP, this is written up through the last two chapters and I have two betas who are really more like my alphas, so don't fear abandonment!
> 
> I've also figured out how to make italics work. The big secret is "don't post on a mobile."

It was the worst hotel Eugene had ever stayed in. The bed was lumpy and hard, the window had no curtains, the room was freezing, everything smelled like smoke, and, worst of all, he could hear the couple next door talking like they were in the room with him.

“...so then he turns around to this nasty, gory leg he just tripped over and says ‘Ooh Soohrry!’ like--like he’s offended it somehow!”

A woman’s laughter pushed Eugene from the edge of sleep, back into the English countryside, back to his tattered blanket in the woods. It was well past dawn, hours since they should have started toward Jack’s home again, and Eugene wondered why Jack hadn't woken him sooner. A few meters away, Jack was telling another story, arms flailing, to someone being swallowed by his jumper. They had a small fire going, and she had both hands around a camp cup with a tea bag’s tab stuck to the side. Her arms were wrapped around legs bared between a pair of athletic shorts and running shoes.

“Did I miss something?” Eugene asked.

Jack and his companion turned to look at him, Jack beaming. “Good morning, lazybones! Look what I found! She’s got tea!”

The woman started to stand, but Eugene held out a hand to stop her and sat between her and Jack. She introduced herself as Sandra and explained she’d been on the road for a few days, looking for her fiance.

She pulled a picture out of her pack. “Have you seen this man?”

In the photo was Sandra, hair down, made up, lovely. Next to her was a much taller man with a blandly handsome but kind face.

“That’s Evan,” she continued. “He teaches at a grammar school east of here. He left for work a few days ago, even though school was closed. He thought...he thought maybe some of the children, if their parents had turned…” Sandra paused, set her jaw, and cleared her throat. “He thought if their parents had turned, they might come to school to be safe. When he left, he was wearing a grey jumper and rust coloured corduroys. Any sign of him?”

Eugene shook his head sadly. “Sorry. I haven’t seen him.”

“Yeah,” Jack added. “I told her I’d remember a face like that.”

“Of course you would,” Eugene snorted. 

The three of them chatted for a moment, Jack catching Eugene up on which stories he’d already told her (all embarrassing, all about Eugene) and sharing his cup of tea. It was almost comfortable. Almost...nice. As the days had worn on, their encounters with other travelers had grown less and less encouraging. If they weren't hostile, they were dying. If they weren't dying, they would be soon. This, though, was more like the camping trips he’d taken with friends back home. He could, if he tried, imagine he was here on purpose, spending time out of the city, learning someone new in the pure, unrushed way one only can outside. 

“Excuse me,”Jack said during a peaceful lull. “Loo.”

“I’ll start packing up,” Eugene said. “We’re already behind. Why didn't you wake me?”

“No, no,” Jack insisted. “Enjoy your cuppa. No telling when you’ll get another. Anyway, you weren't having dreams, and I was having a lovely chat with Miss Sandra, so…” he shrugged. “I’ll find what I find when we get there. No hurry.”

Eugene watched him go, W.G. slung over one shoulder, thin t-shirt for a band he’d never heard of pulling on one side with its weight. He was singing quietly to himself and walked as lightly as always. When they’d first begun travelling together, it had irritated Eugene. Jack’s blitheness had tensed him, made him worry about that seeming obliviousness. But days of Jack being the first to spot something in the distance, Jack on his feet and off before Eugene even knew a zombie was near, Jack’s wide smile disarming (often quite literally) dangerous, desperate people had quickly changed his mind. Jack was the best of them both.

“He’s quite taken with you, that one,” Sandra mused.

Eugene shook his head. “That’s just Jack,” he laughed. “He’s...social.”

Sandra nodded and watched the fire. “I don’t come up to just anybody, you know. I’m on my own out here and I have to be cautious. I’ve already had all my warm clothes taken, and half my food.”

Eugene made a small, pitying sound. “That’s awful. Can we help?”

She waved a hand. “Nah. I’m almost to Evan’s school. I won’t need much there, one way or the other.”

His inclination was to argue, but really...she was right. He admired her fatalism.

“So why did you risk talking to us?” Eugene asked, taking another long sip. God, this was the most amazing tea in the universe. To hell with that cafe in India.

“Well, I was headed east, and I saw him sitting there, right? He’d look at the woods, then he’d look at you. Then back at the woods, then back at you. Woods, you, woods, you. Then all of a sudden, he starts singing. Really quietly, you understand. No chance of getting the attention of those things. So I listen and...it’s Katy Perry. Your sentry is sitting up in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night, with the world burning down around him and he’s bopping along to ‘I Kissed a Girl.’ I was tired and, frankly, pretty lonely. So I risked it.”

She smiled softly and pressed a finger into her tea bag, expelling more. “He was on his feet, wielding that bat, immediately, and I thought, ‘oh god, I’ve made a terrible mistake.’ But the second he’s sees that I’m...normal or whatever, he puts it down, asks if I’m cold, and offers me his jumper.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Most amazing thing I’ve seen out here.”

“Yeah,” Eugene said to his cup. “He’s something.” He felt so proud. Like she was praising Eugene himself. Like his alliance with Jack was some sort of achievement on its own, like Jack was his own. But today he’d be taking Jack home and that was as far as they’d planned. Eugene was sure Jack would want to stay there, on familiar ground. Rescue his mom, go rescue his sister. There was nothing for Eugene there. Nothing for him anywhere, really. But with such taxed resources, blood would certainly be thicker than sarcasm.

“He said you’re looking for his mum?”

“Hm?” Eugene said. “Oh, yeah we are. He says we’re not far. We’ll be to his house today sometime. I don’t really know what to hope for.”

“Hard to hope for anything,” she said, looking away.

Eugene studied her. “You seem hopeful. If you’re still looking.”

She sighed. “What else am I going to do? I can die with him, or I can die looking for him, or I can just...die. Better to have tried, you know?”

“A fool’s hope,” he said softly to himself.

“What’s that?” 

“Nothing.”

They parted ways with Sandra soon after. Jack insisted she keep the jumper and, as he distracted her with a long, tight hug, Eugene slipped a few of their rations into her bag. Watching her walk away, Eugene felt a sad, sick tiredness. Her fiance was dead. She was going to die. He and Jack were going to die. Probably today. He regretted ever talking to her. It was just one more person to inevitably slip away, one more soul to be destroyed in the most horrific way possible. He looked into the woods, away from Jack and thought of running. Of leaving all the hurt that was going to come behind and just letting this terrible world destroy him alone.

 

“Gene are you coming?” Jack called, slinging on his pack. Eugene tried to freeze the moment--Jack strong and whole and glowing in the sun--but fear and the threat of tears clouded it out until he had no choice but to walk on after him.

 

“What do your elf eyes see?” Eugene asked as lightly as he could muster. Somewhere over the last few hours’ trek, Jack’s happy chatter had ground him down into a sort of existential acceptance. They were going to be torn apart and it was going to be awful, but at least he’s kept his distance. He tried.

The look Jack gave him was dismissive, bordering on hostile. He’d already slipped into the unsmiling focus of combat that always unnerved and excited Eugene. He pointed W.G. down from the hilltop.

“There. The red one. Dark roof. I see at least six zoms milling about that will have to be taken care of. You should stay here. You’re slower and not as strong.”

Eugene gaped for a moment, then laughed. “Oh no. Sorry, Jack, but the being a prick to drive someone away thing? I invented that. And you kind of suck at it.”

Jack sighed. “It’s going to be bad, Gene. You said you’d come with me this far and you've done what you said.”

“I said I’d help you find your mother. And unless your mother is gnat swarm, I don’t believe we've found her yet.”

“I just…” Jack faltered. Eugene had seen him nervous, seen him overwhelmed, seen him anxious, but rarely had he seen him just plain scared. “I just don’t know if I can take care of you down there.”

And that did sting. “That’s what you think you’ve been doing?” Eugene sneered. “Taking care of me? I think I’ve taken out just as many--”

“Oh for god’s sake, Eugene, it’s not just the zombies!” Jack snapped, staring hard. He set his jaw and looked away. “You think I don’t see how you just...go away in your head? If it weren’t for me--if it weren’t for ‘silly Jack’ with his ridiculous questions about---about Star Wars and comic books, you’d have just laid down and died ages ago.”

Eugene was speechless. Witty Eugene with nothing to say.

“Did you ever wonder why there weren’t many children?” Jack asked, voice low.

Eugene felt himself grow cold and a heavy dread settle into his stomach. “I mean, I guess I thought that...maybe their parents didn’t let them change?”

Jack scoffed. “‘Didn’t let them change’? Really? Like...mummies and daddies have a magic antidote made from kittens and love? No, Eugene. There are children. Plenty of children. You just never see them. Would you like to know why? Because I get to them first!”

He thought he was going to be sick. For the first time in years, Eugene legitimately thought he was going to throw up. It made sense now--Jack leaping off after a sound and declaring it was just an animal...despite the blood on W.G. Jack sending him after shamblers too far away to worry about immediately. Jack with sore arms from low swings at “crawlers.” “I hate crawlers,” Jack had spat with a waver in his voice. “I hate them.” 

“You’re slower,” Jack repeated in a cold tone Eugene never would have recognized. “And you’re not as strong.”

“Oh god, Jack,” Eugene breathed. 

“But god help me,” Jack said. “You’re what’s gotten me this far.”

Jack took a deep breath and clenched his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his voice barely shook. “I’m going to fall apart down there. I need you to be safe, okay?”

“No,” said Eugene, squeezing Jack’s arm. “Not okay. I’m coming with you.”

“I’m not responsible for you then,” Jack muttered.

“You never were.”

 

“Ready?” Eugene whispered, hand on the doorknob.

Jack shook his head and flexed his hands on his upraised bat. “Do it anyway.”

They had decided that Jack would go first. If someone were alive beyond that door, they’d be far more likely to know him, far less likely to shoot him. 

Eugene ticked off “1..2..3” and pulled open the door. 

The air in the house was stale, the lights out, and a few things out of place. Beyond that, it was eerily still. Jack lowered W.G. a bit and cautiously walked in.

“Hallo?” he called. “Mum? Mum it’s Jackie, are you here?”

Eugene followed him in and scanned the interior. To his right was a sitting room, filled with photographs and old furniture. On the wall was a family portrait of a thin, blonde woman with her hands on the shoulders of two children, a boy and a girl, about eight years old with brilliant red hair. There’s a picture of two very chubby babies in sailor suits framed on a table, along with other pictures through the years: in nice clothes, messy haired, smiling enormous smiles. There’s Jack in short pants, chubby and sucking his two middle fingers. Jack missing his front teeth with round cheeks and skinny legs. Jack too thin and awkward, smaller than his sister. Jack slowly growing into his body, trying to look appropriately serious and mature, but with a glimmer in his clear eyes. Jack in a graduation cap and opened gown. Eugene swallowed hard and wondered about the girl who was always next to him. He hoped she was safe. He knew she probably wasn’t.

“Mummy?” Jack called again and again through the first floor of the house. Eugene heard doors open and close, heard him call her name again and again. He’d call for her if he were dying Eugene thought and was instantly winded. Stop, he told himself. Please, please stop.

“She’s not down here,” Jack said breathlessly as he found Eugene again. “Upstairs? My old room is the first door. I should still have some clothes in there from holiday--get some for us?”

Eugene did as he was asked. A shelf ran the length of the room, filled with trophies and medals. Cricket. Rugby. One or two for football. More cricket. On one wall was a professional, panoramic photo behind glass of a group of young, serious-looking men, all dressed in white. He found Jack in the front row, sharp jawed and stern, hands folded atop a bat decorated with signatures. Nearby was a framed newspaper clipping featuring a photo of Jack in a stance he knew all too well: One knee dropped, arms outstretched, swinging. The caption reads “Jack Holden Bats for the Kings in This Week’s Match. Kings Win By Five Wickets.” 

“Jack Holden,” Eugene said to himself. “Hello, Jack Holden.” He ached with the odd intimacy of this new fact. Down the hall, he heard doors continue to open and close, though Jack had stopped calling out. He guiltily noted that he felt relieved by this.

Remembering his task, Eugene opened the closet door. Jumpers, button-downs, at least three well-cut suits. Eugene imagined Jack slicked down, buttoned up, and refined. The ferocity of his reaction startled him. He pulled out a few jumpers, then noticed a box on the top shelf labelled “Art School” in messy script. He took it down carefully and opened the lid. 

There was a sketchbook, full of bodies--hands, feet, arms, legs, chests, bellies, breasts, thighs--all disembodied, all different, all perfectly rendered. There were full torsos of men and women, fat and thin, voluptuous and sharp. There were faces of dozens of shades, so many eyes and lips and mouths in anger and sadness and joy and repose. There were a few full portraits. Three of a girl with smooth, dark hair, almond eyes, and a smile that left a heaviness in his chest. One of a man, twisted in bedsheets, asleep, that made Eugene’s heart even heavier.

There were loose papers with drawings of landscapes and flowers and houses and every sort of bit and bob one could imagine. Some colored, some painted, some just sketches, a few framed. There was a digital camera in the box, too, that Eugene flicked on. Mostly pictures of people that could be anyone and the occasional selfie. Eugene paused on one closeup of Jack’s face, his eyes lined in smeary kohl. There’s one of Jack and a dark-skinned boy, taken from Jack’s outstretched arm. They’re clearly laying on a bed and Jack is grinning. In the next one, they were kissing, Jack with one eye just barely cracked and turned to the camera.

At the very bottom was an envelope with “Lily’s Photog Final” written in pretty, loopy handwriting. He pulled out a stack of black and white, professional-looking photos. In them, Jack is shirtless against a black background in various poses. In profile, looking pensive. Eyes closed, lips parted in what looked like bliss. Smoldering and threatening with a cricket bat across his shoulders, heavily braceleted wrists draped over the ends. But more striking than the halos of light reflected in his eyes, than the way the lighting made the freckles on his nose and shoulders darken, than even the glorious chiaroscuro of his body, is that in every picture, he’s sporting a badly blackened eye and a split lip. Eugene hoped in an oddly desperate way that it was make-up. Because while he’d seen Jack with bruises here and there as a hazard of the road, he’d never seen him hurt. The thought that he could--that he almost certainly would--became very, very clear in that moment.

He hurried to pull open the chest of drawers and shove some t-shirts, trousers, and pants into his bag and realized the house had been silent for some time.

“Jack?” he called, stepping cautiously. “Jack, where are you?”

He saw him at the top of the stairs, chin rested on W.G., staring into space.

“Jack? Are you okay?”

“Found her,” he answered roughly.

“Was she--?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, barely audible.

Eugene took a slow breath. “Wow. Okay. I’ll--I’ll take care of it. Okay?”

Jack shook his head slowly, eyes unmoving. “Already done.”

Eugene felt a flash of inexplicable anger. “What? Why? I could have at least done this. I know you think I’m some kind of delicate flower, but seriously Jack? Why on earth would you do that yourself? We agreed before we came in here that if anything happened, I’d be the one.”

Jack dropped his head into his hand, letting W.G. fall over with a clatter.

“Jack, oh god, I’m so sorry, I just...god…” Eugene sat beside him on the stair and thoughtlessly pulled him into his arms. His cheek pressed against Eugene’s neck was dry and his body still.

“I couldn’t stand for you to be the man who killed my mum,” Jack said quietly and flatly.

The weight of tears suffocated Eugene, and he fought them down as hard as he could. If Jack wasn’t crying, how could he? He tried to imagine it: Jack opening a door, calling for her. Something grey and terrible staggering out at him. His inevitable hesitation, then acceptance. His body going loose and focused and then… Eugene wondered if he said anything. Did he try to touch her? Did she hurt him? He saw that W.G. was completely clean. Had he wiped it down after or had he used something else, needing both of his dearest companions to remain unsullied? He pressed a hard kiss into Jack’s hair and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

 

Since this started, Eugene had heard terrible things. The echoey, animal groans of the undead. Pleas and cries and sobs and screams from the living and dying. The eerie cackle of a person so far gone into their own horror there’s nothing left in them that’s human.

But the worst sounds he’d ever heard, before or after, were the soft, stifled noises--tamped-down sobs; heavy, wet inhalations; shaky, bitten back cries on exhalation--coming through the door behind him. He knew Jack was trying to keep it together and it’s all the worse for his restraint.

After gathering a few things, they’d secured the house next door for the night. Jack said he knew it from his childhood and that the floorplan was nearly the same as his own. He’d sent a dazed Jack into the bedroom at the top of the stairs and volunteered for first watch. There would, of course, only be one watch that night. 

Eugene knew, if it were him, he’d want to be left alone. To sort out the horror and grief on his own, to keep something that felt like safety and dignity in solitude. He’d accepted that he’d never see his family again ages ago, after the report on Vancouver. But there was this little piece of him that could always believe that maybe--maybe--his dad was out there somewhere, in a cabin in the snow, living the quiet, solitary life he’d always dreamed of.

But sitting there staring at the barricaded stairs, back against a door too thin to keep out the sounds of Jack’s pain but too thick to offer him any comfort, Eugene realized with intense clarity that it wasn’t him. It was Jack, who chatted and smiled at everyone that wasn’t actively pointing a gun at him, and many who were. Jack who touched easily, trusted easily, poured out his every thought. Jack hated being alone, and this was the most alone he’d ever been.

With a deep breath, Eugene pushed open the bedroom door. In the dim light, he could see Jack curled on his side, back facing out. He shook and sniffled and didn’t acknowledge him.

“Hey,” Eugene murmured into the dark. “Can I come in?”

There was no reply, but he came in cautiously and sat down on the bed, back against the headboard. “So…” he began, a little unsure. “I’m um...I’m not going to tell you it’s okay. Because this is just about the least okay thing that’s ever happened.” Jack remained unresponsive, but his breathing seemed to slow.

“And I...I know you know this, but you did the right thing. You did an amazing thing. I couldn’t--” Eugene choked, coughed, recomposed. “I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. I’d have just left my dad there. Because I’m selfish. And I’m a coward. But I don’t want to be anymore. It ends tonight, Jack. Everything I always thought I knew about...about being strong, and being a man...it’s just stupid. All of it.” Eugene paused and reached a careful hand out and slid it tentatively into Jack’s hair. “You’re are the kindest, bravest person I’ve ever known, Jack Holden, and I want to be more like you.”

There was no hesitation on Jack’s part. He rolled over, wrapped his arms tight around Eugene, buried his face in his chest and just shattered. He sobbed so hard that it sounded like it hurt, but Eugene knew that hurt probably felt amazing. All he could do was hold him tight and make soft sounds of comfort. 

After a long, long time, Jack wound down into exhausted gasps, then shuddery, quiet breaths. He pulled back a little bit and rubbed his face with his shirt. “I’m sorry, Gene,” he said. “What I said back there--”

“Was right. I just ignore things. The world is so different now, and...I have to accept that.”

Jack shook his head. “I’d be an animal without you.”

Eugene smirked back at him. “What, like a hedgehog? Maybe, say, a duck? I kind of see you as a platypus.”

Jack blinked, startled. He sniffed a little, then a grin started pulling at the corners of his lips with stifled snickers. “I kind of fancied myself a badger of some sort. Maybe,” he giggled. “Maybe a majestic hound.”

“So, like an Irish setter? I mean, the coloring’s right, but the temperament…”

Jack burst out laughing. “Oh and you? I supposed you’re some great, I don’t know, stag beast with grand horns and a flowing mane?”

Eugene tried to sniff haughtily, but it came out as more of a giggling snort. “Stag’s don’t have manes, dummy.”

“Well yours would, what with your sodding shaggy boy band hair.”

“I’ve been through your bedroom, Holden, you love shaggy boy band hair. That Boyzone poster was a just a little too wrinkled.”

Jack froze, eyes wide with wonder. “You called me ‘Holden.’”

Eugene smiled. “Yeah, I guess I did. That okay? I saw it in your room. Sorry.”

Jack shook his head hard. “No, no. I just…it didn’t really occur to me that you didn’t know yet. Funny.” He sat up a little straighter, looking into Eugene’s eyes, arms still wrapped around his waist. “Hello. I’m Jack Holden.”

“Lovely to meet you, Jack Holden. I’m Eugene Woods,” he answered more quietly than he intended. The air tightened and grew solid between them. Jack’s eyes had soften and his smile faded. Eugene wanted so much to pull him closer, just a tiny bit, and kiss his tear-swollen lips. To keep kissing them until Jack couldn’t breathe or think, then lay him back and make him forget this awful day, just for a little while. But for all the pleasure that moment would bring, the inevitable pain of their future would be made all the worse for it.

“So we’re Holden Woods, huh?” he said, breaking the moment. Jack laughed until he had to put his head down onto Eugene’s shoulder again. They lay there quietly and Eugene silently assured Jack that it was okay to sleep. He felt Jack’s body go warm and soft as he fell.

“Holden Woods,” he said with a trace of a slur just before he slipped under. “Don’t know how you beat me to that one.”

 

_It’s dark but he knows it’s Jack. Would know Jack just from his breathing or from an inch of his wrist and he’s pinning those wrists down, palms flat, watching them spread and claw against the wrinkled sheets. Jack’s warm and soft and smells like sweat. He’s making sounds that make Eugene dizzy, drive him to bite into the back of Jack’s neck and suck purple bruises there. The bared muscles of Jack’s back tense against Eugene’s chest and it’s so, so good. Jack’s getting louder and louder, groaning, grunting, moving as though he’s struggling or writhing or trying to consume him. Jack turns his head to bite Eugene’s arm and the sharp pain of it is amazing. But his jaw keeps tightening, his teeth sinking further until Eugene is crying out in pain, trying to pull away. Only then does he see that the shoulders beneath him have gone from rose cream to a sickly ash and everything is cold. He’s breathless with terror when Jack turns to glare at him with empty, milky eyes._

Eugene gasped awake, heart slamming and too warm. In a panic, he tried to sit up but was pinned and for a second, he knew his lapse in watchfulness had cost them their lives. His head cleared, though, and to his almost nauseated relief, he saw that the weight on his chest was Jack, cheeks flushed with sleep, body warm and limp.

He’d been having this dream, with varying degrees of carnality, for weeks. One thing was constant, though: Jack always turned and he always woke up with a sense of inevitable dread.

The sun was up, though, and, loathe as he was to face it, they had a new day to wade through. He woke Jack gently and, upon discovering the water was still on, insisted on showers. When they were clean and packed, Eugene worked up the courage to ask: “What do we do now?”

Jack thought for a moment. “I should bury her,” he said. 

Eugene hesitated, then said, as gently as he could, “I...I understand that. But Jack, that will take days. You can’t dig an entire grave by yourself. And with all the people in this town who’ve turned, it’s just such a risk.”

“I should do something,” Jack sighed helplessly.

Eugene dug into his pack. “Here,” he said, handing over two framed photos. One was of Jack, age five, being held by his mother, reaching to pet a horse. The other was of Jack, his mother, and his sister in their Sunday best. “Why don’t you leave one on the doorstep?”

Jack swallowed hard. “Oh Gene,” he said through silent tears. “How’d you…?”

Eugene just shook his head and led Jack back outside. 

“You want to talk about it,” Eugene asked after dropping off the pictures and saying a few words. 

“Nope,” he answered, popping the P. “Not now. Not ever.” 

“Do you want to try to find your sister?”

“No. She’s gone.”

“How do you--”

“She’s gone, Eugene. Leave it.”

As they passed the last of the houses, Jack seemed to transform again, back into the Jack Eugene had known before the town. While he was still subdued, he smiled some, joked some, took note of odd things. As the day turned into evening, only the occasional silence and a fiercer violence in Jack’s swings gave away the events of the night before. They began to look for a place to stay for the night and skirted some woods they hoped would have a ranger station or at least a public resting place they could hole up in.

“What’s this?” Jack asked, spotting something ahead. “Is that--hold on.”

Eugene saw something green dangling from a low branch in a tree a few meters away. Jack took a running start, leaped up, and snagged it. “It’s a jumper!” he called. “Same color as my old one!” He pulled off the cream one he had on and pulled on the new one. “And it fits! Perfect!” Eugene jogged up.

“That is your jumper, idiot. Ink stains on the cuffs? The hole where that girl tried to bite you?”

“Oh yeah,” Jack mused. “But Sandra took mine...oh.”

Eugene saw the sadness dawn in his eyes and felt his own stomach drop. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Jack just sighed. “I don’t know what I expected.”

“Hoy! Put that back!” a voice called from the woods. “That’s my wife’s. She was just drying it out.”

“Sorry, mate, I just--no.”

Eugene knew what he was seeing. He knew exactly what was standing in front of him but just could not force himself to believe it. There, not two meters from them, was a tall, kind-faced man in rust-brown corduroys.

“Evan! What’s--Jack!” Ringed by approximately eight children of various ages, a familiar woman came stomping up.

“Sandra!” Jack called, running and scooping her into a tight hug. “How are you, love?”

Evan and Sandra invited them back to their small camp. They told them about Sandra finding the school, ringed by zombies. She’d screamed herself hoarse from a nearby barn to draw them, then set it on fire. Evan and the children fled with her into the woods, where they had been making their way to his aunt’s farm further south.

“Do you want to come with us?” Evan asked. “We’re not going anywhere from there. It’s so hard to travel with the children, you know. Best to just hole up.”

Jack and Eugene looked at each other for a long moment. They could stay. Hunker down and wait this out, if there was any waiting it out. Maybe try to help. But then Eugene imagined how food was going to get scarce. How with each week, more mouths to feed would be less food for each person. He imagined being the person to starve out one of the wide-eye children in front of him. As though reading his mind, Jack shook his head, no.

“I think we’re going north,” Eugene said. “We’ve heard they’re setting up some places there. Refugee camps, sort of. I imagine they need all the help they can get.”

In the morning, they said their goodbyes. As she hugged him, Sandra said softly enough for only Eugene to hear, “It’s better to have tried.” She kissed his cheek and led her new family back into the woods.

“So. North?” Jack asked expectantly.

As Eugene watched Sandra disappear into the green, he realized that, although he knew their odds were slim, this was a happy ending. They were probably going to be attacked or starve or come to some other terrible end, but all love stories end in tragedy. Somebody dies, somebody is left alone. It’s every minute in between that pays that debt. He thought hard, and imagined it: when the moment came--if the moment came--would it make one bit of difference, would it hurt one second less, if the greying Jack he had to swing into was a Jack he’d held at arms length or a Jack he’d held in his arms. Held tight and close for however long they had left. Held up as a shield against the growing despair that threatened, every day, to consume him.

With a deep breath, and a feeling like he was throwing himself blind off a cliff, he reached out and laced Jack’s fingers together with his own. With a squeeze of his hand and a slow stroke of his thumb down Jack’s palm, he felt himself smile. 

“Fool of a Took,” he said fondly. “Let’s go.”


	4. A Little Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wonder...I guess he’s probably gone now.”
> 
> Jack rested his cheek against Eugene’s and cupped one hand underneath his knee in comfort. “Nah,” he said softly. “If anyone was built for the zombie apocalypse, it’s Tom Waits.”
> 
> Wherein Jack is Smooooothe, Eugene is decidedly not, and Tom waits for no man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2xhBqyLPYT8
> 
> The concert songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7LqgIefUNI and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4vUnDaObdE
> 
> The album: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lndL46jiEFQ (makes good background music for this chapter ;)

The end of the world had been hard on Jack.  Well, clearly, with the starving and running and beheading his own mother, but on a day to day level, it had been hard because familiar arms were hard to find and strange arms were not to be trusted. Not since Lily had nestled her head against his stomach the night before all this started had someone touched him just to be touching him, and it was making him feel like his skin was on too tight.

 

Jack had been born fairly early. Not so much to be dangerous, but just enough to be cautious. To help him thrive, his mother told him, the doctors  insisted he have as much human contact as possible.  He was cuddled and carried and nestled every minute of his first few weeks.  Jack wondered if maybe they hadn’t gone overboard, because as long as he could remember, his body was drawn to other people’s bodies more than seemed normal.  He needed contact, lots of it, every day.  He was the toddler that always found a lap.  He was the little boy full of sticky, muddy hugs, and when he got too old for that, he’d start feeling strange and itchy and lonely after a while, so he’d shove or flick or even fight.  After his third scuffle in as many weeks, his mother, sick of picking him up from the head teacher’s office, decided he needed an outlet for his anger and put him in cricket.  It worked.  

 

When he was young, his teammates rough-housed, wrestled, and horse-played enough to make him feel less twitchy and alone.  As he got older, sport made him strong and fit. This got him access to touches of a very different, much better sort. And up until this...mess, he’d never lacked for takers.  Ironically, now was when he needed it the most.

 

Every time he slipped into what he was starting to think of as his “zombie brain,” he came out of it a little heavier and a little more desperate to cling. Looking back, Jack was frightened by the thought of what, exactly, would have happened if Eugene had kept his usual distance after what Jack had had to do to his Mum. As he’d lay alone that night, Jack had tightened his own arms around his ribs as hard as he could, just trying to hold what was left of himself inside. He couldn’t remember a word Eugene had said, but the feeling of Eugene’s cautious fingertips against his scalp had been just enough of a line to lead him back. Eugene’s heartbeat in his ear drugged him into a hard, heavy sleep and had given him enough stamina to drag himself into another day. He’d kept it together, but had longed to bury his face in a neck instead of his cricket bat into a head.

 

Two mornings later, as they watched Sandra walk away with her new family, Eugene reached out and took his hand, completely unprovoked. It wasn’t to comfort, it wasn’t out of fear, it wasn’t the literal least he could do in the face of tragedy. Eugene just touched him. Just slid Jack’s fingers into the gaps between his own for no other reason than to fill those spaces.  Jack felt like a light in him he didn’t know was sputtering suddenly just burst.  He felt positively radioactive, with the fallout of Eugene’s touch spreading all over him.  Eugene’s thumb’s gentle slide from wrist to middle finger made him feel like he’d just taken a deep breath after suffocating.  Eugene had let go after a few seconds--after a shy, closed-lipped smile--but it was still enough to make Jack start seeing how unlike himself he’d been. They walked on, Jack convinced nothing could douse him.

 

But the rain had started near midday and had gotten worse by the hour.  They were soaked to the skin, freezing cold, exhausted, hungry, terrified, and as lost as people who don’t know where they’re going in the first place can get when they finally stumbled across shelter.  “Shelter,” it turned out, was a broken down shack with warped, poorly spaced boards and a corrugated metal roof that made the hard rain distractingly loud.  They’d changed into dry clothes, found some tinned beans and an old carrot to eat, and huddled next to each other, wide awake and shivering against the draft and the damp, sharing the quilts his Nan made.

 

“How are you doing?” Eugene asked.

 

Jack shrugged.  “Been better I suppose.  It was terrible, understand, but it wasn’t a shock.  She’d not been too well before, so…”  He let the sentence trail off into a silence he hoped wasn’t too awkward.

 

Eugene grimaced and looked away.  “Sorry. I forgot, you didn’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Just doesn’t do any good to think about it, you know?” Jack sighed.  “Besides, we have plenty to think about that isn’t that.”

 

“Except for right now.”

 

“Yeah, except for right now.”

 

“Oh!” Eugene exclaimed after a brief pause.  “Do you think your iPod survived the storm?”

 

Jack reached for his bag and started to dig.  “I’m sure it did.  A little rain never hurt no one.”

 

“Hold on,” Eugene said, voice filling with cautious glee.  “Was that...a Tom Waits reference?”

 

Jack paused.  “Are you asking me if what I said was a Tom Waits reference or if you saying ‘hold on’ was a Tom Waits reference?  Because I know what I said was but I don’t know if what you said was because you said it.”

 

Eugene scowled for a moment. “Um...okay, so it was.  I just...wow.  I can’t believe you’ve heard of Tom Waits.”

 

“I can’t believe you have.”

 

Jack found his iPod, plugged in the earbuds, and handed one to Eugene.

 

“Heard of him?” Eugene smirked.  “I met him.”

 

“No!” Jack gasped, pausing in his scrolling.  

 

“Yes!  He was on tour in Vancouver in, like, I think 2011?  2012? Of course I have to go see him because Tom Waits, right?  So I go and it’s amazing.  He started out with ‘[Jockey Full of Bourbon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7LqgIefUNI),’ which is totally one of my favorites and does ‘[Lucky Day](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4vUnDaObdE)’ for his encore and...it was seriously one of the best shows I’ve been to in my entire life.  So it ends and...I can’t stand for it to be over.  I hang around outside and bum cigarettes from some hipsters--shut up--and we act like a bunch of kids on a sugar high, and then...there he is.  He just comes out the back door and says in his voice, you know, ‘Those damn things’ll kill you.’  The other guys are all cool and keep it together and are acting all indifferent, like it’s the ticket taker coming out there, but I’m just starstruck.  I mean--it’s Tom Waits.  So I finally sort of stammer out, ‘Mr. Waits?’ and he gave me the most awesome smile and said ‘Yeah, son?’  So I said…” Eugene sighed.  “I said, ‘Bet you can’t wait to get off work and see your baby.’”

 

Jack howled.  “Oh no!”

 

“Oh yes,” Eugene was red faced, but laughing.  “And he just...he just shook his head and kind of smacked me on the arm.  And that was it.  I got in my car and prayed for death.”

 

Jack was having trouble staying upright, so he clung to Eugene, tears rolling down his cheeks.  “You are so bad at meeting people.  How have you ever pulled anyone?”

 

“I play the long con,” he snorted.  “You know.  Hang around.  Say stupid things.  Convince them I’m completely harmless then bam.  I drop my mildly-attractive-with-a-good-job-and-no-fear-of-commitment A-game.  Works every time.”

 

“Every time?”

 

“Both times.”

 

Jack shook his head, then cued up [_Closing Time_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lndL46jiEFQ) and watched Eugene’s face go dreamy.  He wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders and pulled him close enough that they could both see the screen.

 

“Mmm,” Eugene hummed in bliss.  “God, I missed this.  I wonder...I guess he’s probably gone now.”

 

Jack rested his cheek against Eugene’s and cupped one hand underneath his knee in comfort.  “Nah,” he said softly.  “If anyone was built for the zombie apocalypse, it’s Tom Waits.”

 

They listened silently, eyes closed until the album wound down and they were left with the sound of the rain and their own breath.  It was warmer now, pressed close together in the dark, and yesterday seemed much longer off than it had before.

 

“Got any more?” Eugene murmured.  Jack could feel Eugene’s jaw move against his own and it was wonderful.  He had almost forgotten what it felt like to feel good inside his skin and Eugene, lovely Eugene who cared for him and laughed at him and kept him safe from his own scary brain, was warm and soft and smelled so good.

 

“More?” he answered, pulling away just enough to look at Eugene.  “Do I have more.  I’ll have you know, I have the world’s only existing copy of the entire Tom Waits discography.  What do you think of that.”

 

Eugene groaned.  “I think I could kiss you.”

 

Jack grinned.  If ever there had been an invitation, this was it.  Hand lettered, gold plated, and delivered to him on a silver server.  

 

“You could, you know,” he dared.  “Kiss me, I mean.”

 

Eugene’s change in breath would have been imperceptible to someone who wasn’t close enough to feel it on his own face.  “...Or I could kiss you,” he continued, and Eugene stopped smiling.

 

Eugene’s lips were soft and damp against his own--a little chapped, but still the nicest thing Jack had felt for a long, long while. It was a soft kiss, and a little tentative. More affirmative than passionate and not really tasting of anything in particular. But good. Quietly, comfortingly, so, so good.  Jack’s heart did not race and his breath stayed perfectly level.  He felt, in fact, calmer than he had since he’d woken up in that field, and as Eugene pressed a gentle hand against his back to pull him closer, it was like being led out of a smoke-filled house.

 

They parted after a moment with a quiet, distinct sound, but kept their foreheads pressed together.

 

“Well,” Eugene said.  “That was…”

 

“Fantastic?  Mind-blowing?  Life-changing?” Jack sighed.

 

“I was going to say ‘inevitable,’ but I mean, I totally understand how it was fantastic for you.”

 

Jack tipped his head back with a scowl.  “Oh no, I was talking about you.  Not that it wasn’t nice enough--”

 

Eugene snorted.  “‘Nice enough?’ Really?”

 

“I mean, it was okay--” Jack rolled his eyes and fought down a grin.

 

“I’ll show you ‘okay’,” Eugene purred. He wrapped his hand around the back of Jack’s neck and pulled him in hard, open-mouthed and intense.

 

Okay, no.  That was good.

 

Eugene kissed him slow and deep and for ages as Tom crooned and barked and shouted. This time his heart did race. Eugene slid firm, gentle touches to his face and his chest and his back with no impatience. He seemed content to simply hold him and kiss him again and again. For his part, Jack was drowned in it. The slow movement of their jaws and lips and tongues was more than enough to overwhelm him after such a stretch of fear and loneliness together.

 

Jack hadn’t realized how very, very much he needed this.  He knew he’d wanted it--he’d wanted it since they’d met, really.  Finally kissing him, though, startled Jack with how casual this wasn’t.  And isn’t that a delight? he thought.

 

Jack had shared his body and his heart so easily in the past, with no real regrets.  It had always been wonderful in a temporary sort of way, and the inevitable heartache was just a consequence he dealt with, like sore muscles after a hard match.  But watching Eugene over the past few weeks, Jack had seen that he was far, far more cautious.  This was more than comfort--although it was very comforting, too. It was dangerous to care about someone out here.  The odds were against you even going to sleep every night, much less waking up with the same person morning after morning.

 

Never tell me the odds, Jack thought and broke their rhythm with a grin against Eugene’s parted lips. He felt Eugene smile in return before tightening both hands in Jack’s hair and kissing him that much harder.

 

When the music flickered off, signalling the end of the battery, Eugene slowly let him go with a gentle press of his teeth to Jack’s lower lip and a sigh.

 

“Somebody has to be on watch,” he whispered, cupping Jack’s face. “The only bites I want to get are from you.”  He kissed him one last time and moved closer to the open door.

 

“You’re going to regret saying that when I’m all grey and drippy,” Jack laughed.  Eugene winced.  “Really, Gene, I can’t believe that even worked twice.”

 

“You should try to sleep,” he said with surprisingly little humor.  “I’ll wake you when it’s your turn.”

 

Jack lay back on the quilts and wrapped himself up.  “Like I’m going to bloody sleep now,” he muttered.  And immediately fell asleep.

  
  
  


When he woke up, it was still dark, and the rain continued, though it had died down to a dull rumble.  His head felt heavy and his throat ached a bit, as a consequence, he reasoned, of all the crying and kissing he’d done the day before.  He could barely see Eugene’s outline against the open door, so he pulled up the quilts and dragged them over to wrap himself around Eugene’s back.

 

“Morning,” he said, burying his face into Eugene’s neck.  “Or something.”

 

Eugene folded his arms over Jack’s, rested around his waist.  “You sleep?”

 

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, burrowing further into the arc of Eugene’s shoulder. The rain had washed the sweat off him and left him smelling clean. Jack left a few messy, toothy kisses there.

 

“Um, okay,” Eugene gasped. “That’s...awesome?  And distracting?  And--oh my good god--um.  And zombies.”

 

“You said you wanted bites from me,” Jack pointed out.  “Just doing as I’m told.”  He tightened his arms and sucked hard below Eugene’s jaw, but with a heavy, regretful sigh, Eugene squirmed away.

 

“Okay, so, don’t get me wrong,” he stammered.  “I want you to do that for, say, ever?  But yeah.  Zombies.”

 

“Oh very well,” Jack huffed with no real venom.  “Go get some sleep, you.  You’ve been awake two nights and I haven’t any idea how you’re even sitting up right now.”

 

“I’m okay,” Eugene shrugged. “Besides, you’re hogging all the blankets.”

 

“Well, I have no intention of freezing my bollocks off.  Come here.”  Jack opened his arms and help Eugene settle between his knees, back to chest, Eugene’s head against the front of his shoulder.  Jack draped the blankets over himself and Eugene, cocooning them in old cotton.  “How’s that?”

 

“That’s amazing,” Eugene sighed, voice already beginning to slur with exhaustion.

 

“Sleep, then,” Jack murmured, kissing his temple. “I’ve got you.”

 

He actually felt the exact moment Eugene fell asleep.  Jack didn’t know if he’d ever seen Eugene without his body wound tight in readiness before tonight.  In his arms, though, Eugene felt heavy and peaceful and it made Jack’s chest flutter with fondness. He tried to think about the last few days, and how they might have gone without Eugene and couldn’t begin to imagine having the stamina for it. Jack had never been the most motivated person, for his own sake. He studied just hard enough to make it through school, worked just hard enough to make his bills and have money for...extras, drifted aimlessly through life disappointing his mother and teachers and the occasional friend who saw more in him than a good time. He didn’t like that feeling, but with his mother’s greatest disappointment far beyond his control, he’d always felt that letting someone down was a genetic trait as unchangeable as his freckles

 

With Eugene, though, disappointment meant death. He had to fight his hardest, watch his closest, run his fastest, and be his best every second or one of them would just be gone. There one minute, laughing and alive, and the next, grey and moaning.  It was horrible and, for the first time, Jack felt the full intoxication of responsibility.  Because it wasn’t just about protecting Eugene from zombies.  He was beginning to see, in Eugene’s tired shoulders and sad eyes and, now, hard-won kisses, that Jack had to protect himself too. The kindness in Eugene that made him take only what they needed from places, made him pause before each pipe swing, could only exist with Jack’s savagery.  Meanwhile, without Eugene, that savagery would consume Jack, until that would be all that was left.

 

As the night wore on, Eugene’s once comfortable weight seemed to grow heavier and heavier, until Jack’s legs were entirely asleep and his back ached from sitting in a curve.  He pulled the quilt off his shoulders, folded it into a pillow, and carefully slid himself from beneath Eugene. He stirred a bit, but Jack shushed him with a gentle touch to his chest.

 

With W.G. for balance, Jack struggled to his prickling feet and squeezed his eyes shut against a sudden dizziness. They felt enormous and his face was so, so hot. He pulled out his still damp shirt from earlier and pressed its coolness into his cheeks.  

 

This wasn’t right.  

 

Oh god, he thought.  Is this how it starts?  

 

He stripped down to his pants, pulled out the torch, and carefully inspected every piece of himself he could see. No bites. He looked down at his hands. Thick calluses and healed blisters mottled his palms from the grip of his bat. He wondered, with quick terror, if he’d gotten it that way.  But no.  You have to be bitten, he was pretty sure of that. He drew a slow, mindful breath, and when he felt no urge to cough, allowed himself a little relief. Maybe he’d just gotten too warm, between the blankets and Eugene’s considerable body heat. With a cautious look around, he stepped out into the cold, wet night.

 

It did make him feel more awake, and that was good. But it also made the ache in his throat sharper, and with dramatic inhale, he sneezed.  Then he sneezed again.  And again.  

 

And then he coughed.

 

“Oh no,” he muttered.  “No no no no no. God not now.  Why now? I just kissed him.”

 

He had to tell Eugene.  He had to wake him up and tell him he might have the grey flu and then Eugene was going to leave him alone in the shed and he’d die and change and oh god, what if he bit Eugene?  Oh God...what if kissing him had passed it on? He was going to be the reason Eugene died, one way or the other. He sat down hard in the mud, freezing rain water making his muscles clench and bind and he thought of nothing for hours.  At length, the rain slowed then stopped as the sky was beginning to go from black to navy with the approaching dawn. Jack just sat.

 

“Jack?  What are you doing out there?  You’re going to freeze to death.” Jack looked back to see sleepy Eugene standing in the doorway, wrapped in a quilt.

 

“I think--” Jack stopped, tried to catch his breath.  “I think I’ve got it, Gene.  I’m going grey.”

 

“Jack, get in here,” Eugene said sternly.  “Now.”

 

“I don’t know if I--”

 

“Now.”

 

Jack crept back in, staying as far from Eugene as the tiny shack would allow.

 

“Dry off, idiot.”  Eugene wrapped him tightly in his quilt.  “What happen?  Did one come?  Are you bitten?”

 

Jack shook his head. “Nothing came. And I looked for bites, but there--”

 

“Then you’re fine,” Eugene sighed.  “You have to get bitten.  It’s the only way.”

 

“We don’t know that, I--”

 

“Why do you think you have it, anyway?”

 

“I’m feeling all weird?  Like...heavy?  In my head?  And my throat hurts, and I was sneezing, and then...I coughed.”

 

Eugene’s voice was skeptical.  “You coughed.  Once.  When?”

 

“Um...an hour or two ago?”

 

“In the rain?  So...you sneezed and you coughed one time while you were standing around outside in the freezing rain.”

 

“Well, when you put it like that--”

 

“Come here.”  Eugene reached out and beckoned him forward with his hands. Jack smiled and came closer, already reaching back.  Except instead of an embrace, he got Eugene’s thumbs pressing painfully into his cheekbones.

 

“Ow?” Jack yelped indignantly.  “Why did you just--”

 

“So that hurt?” Eugene asked, pressing his forehead.

 

“Clearly, why--”

 

“Could I have the flashlight? Oh good lord, the torch,” Eugene added when Jack paused. Eugene took it and shined it into Jack’s face. “Tip your head back?”

 

Jack did as he was told and Eugene hummed.  “Okay, this is going to sound gross, but can you blow your nose and tell me what color it is?” He did, and announced that it was green, as far as he could tell with the LED light.

 

“That’s not good,” Eugene said under his breath.  Jack’s heart stopped.  

 

“Oh no...so am I…?”

 

Eugene pulled him close, arms around his waist, and kissed his forehead.  “You have a sinus infection, dummy. You’ve been sniffling for days and rubbing your eyes a lot.  I kind of thought you might get one. I get them all the time. ”

 

Jack nearly went limp as Eugene helped him to the floor. “Oh thank god. So that’s nothing, then.”

 

“Well,” Eugene started hesitantly.  “It didn’t used to be. You’d just take a round of antibiotics and that’s it.  But now...I mean, I’m not a doctor. I used to get them all the time, but we’d just  get it cleared up. I don’t know if this can turn into pneumonia or if it’s like infections in the blood that can go bad. So we have to be careful, Jack.  You have to be careful.”

 

Eugene began repacking and rolling up their blankets.  “Even if your sinus infection can’t actually get deadly on its own, you’re reflexes and senses are going to be all off.”

 

Jack fussed with the hem of his jumper absently. What he wouldn’t give for some ginger tea. He watched Eugene push their garbage into a corner and scan the room for anything he may have missed. He was, as always, efficient and focused and thinking many steps ahead.

 

Jack felt unease slowly uncurl in his belly. It was true, actually, what Eugene had said.  He’d be ill for a few days, at least. And in that time, he’d be slow and noisy with sneezes and coughs and not a very good hunter. He was a liability now...and they’d seen all too terribly what happened to liabilities out there. Like the man with asthma those terrible people had used as a distraction. Like the old woman left to starve in the flower shop. Like...no. He had to stop. He wasn’t them. Eugene wasn’t them. But how could anyone know at this point?  Eugene had kissed him over and over with what he thought was real tenderness, but he’d been wrong before, with much lower stakes. And really, couldn’t so much of this be down to what he’d said before?  Jack was faster and stronger. If he wasn’t fast and strong...what was he then?

 

“Gene?” he asked quietly, almost afraid to speak. “Are...are you going to leave me?”

 

Eugene paused for a moment, brows drawn, then kissed Jack gently and said, “No, Jack. I’m going to take care of you.” He seemed to be fighting down a smile. Jack felt cool relief and warm joy paradoxically flood him...then a sharp coda of recognition.

 

“Did you...was that from Lord of the Rings?” Jack asked, incredulous.  “Did you just quote Lord of the bloody Rings at me? When I am at death’s door with sickness and begging you not to abandon me in the wilderness, you parrot back Frodo Sodding Baggins?”

 

“Of course not,” Eugene said, offended.  “I quoted Peregrin Took at you.”

 

“Oh well, then, that’s entirely different, isn’t it?”

 

“Of course.”  Eugene sat down and snuck an arm around him. “You aren’t nearly smart enough to be Sam,” he murmured in Jack’s ear.

 

Jack just muffled a sneeze into the curve of his elbow and stared back out into the breaking dawn, head heavy, heart lighter. This day had all the potential to be not entirely terrible.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you following along at home, you may have noticed that the lyrics to "A Little Rain" are hilariously inappropriate for a romantic scene. I couldn't help it.


	5. Small Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach smiled. “Well, then, I hope you’re right. You’re a good man.”
> 
> “I wasn’t talking about me,” Eugene answered quietly. “Why did you defend us?”
> 
> “I don’t know,” Zach answered. “Why wouldn’t I?”
> 
>  
> 
> Wherein Jack is a sick little puppy, Eugene grows a pair, a totally not symbolic character what are you talking about appears, and the author reminds you that nobody hates Mary Flanner more than Mary Flanner hates Mary Flanner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CKhGmD80xoI
> 
> Last chapter, I stupidly forgot to give credit to my love, Nielrian, whose head-canon was the basis for J+E's first kiss. I couldn't do any of this without her. Jack's illness in this chapter also belongs to her brain. Most everything else is my fault. I'm sorry.
> 
> More spoilery links at the end.

Uncharacteristic snores and an absence of sniffs told Eugene that Jack had finally, finally gone to sleep. It’d been a miserable day, damp and getting colder, and despite his efforts to conceal it, Eugene knew Jack ached with every step. He knew that pain all too well.

_“You sure you’re okay to drive back, Genie?”_

_“Oh my god, Dad, don’t call me that,” he laughs, slinging his duffel into the back seat. “I’m sick, not seven.”_

_“I just worry.”_

_“I know,” Eugene sighs and muffles a cough against his sleeve. “Damn. I’ve got a good one this time.”_

_His dad leans against the car door casually. “Why don’t you just stay another day or two? You can type about fussy food just as well here.”_

_“You have dialup. There’s no way I could file. Besides, my doctor’s back home and if I get enough of these on record, I may be able to get surgery approved.”_

_Eugene is antsy to go--it’s getting dark and he has a date tomorrow that he really wants to be better for. But Ben stays quiet and relaxed against the door, staring into the purple sky. At last, Ben says, less casually than Eugene is sure he intended, “Mom would have my hide for letting you leave like this.”_

_“She’s not here though, is she?” he says more sharply than he means. Ben’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer.  “When will you be back up.” he asks instead._

_Eugene feels guilt start to pull into his back but is distracted by a sneeze. “I have a lot of stuff to do before I go to England next month, so probably not before that. I’ll definitely be home by your birthday, though.”_

_His dad is back inside before he clears the driveway, but Eugene can see one kitchen curtain pulled to the left._

They’d trudged through back roads for most of a day before finding a small chemist’s. It had been mostly cleaned out, but under a shelf they’d found some antihistamine that had helped Jack at least stop getting winded every few feet. Eugene worried about how quickly Jack seemed to be deteriorating. He knew his own sinus infections had been sudden and miserable but this was different. Not because it was physically any worse than anything he’d seen before, but because it was Jack. The thought of Jack being sick was, at this point, more incomprehensible than zombies, and as a consequence, he had to remind himself constantly the he was the brute strength now.

And oh how that had changed him. Everything Jack had said on the hill overlooking his village came back to him and he saw, for the first time, the full extent of the horror they were wading through. And thank whatever negligent god existed, because if it were not for the taste of Jack’s mouth still lingering in his own, he’d have dropped his pipe and walked, resigned, into the arms of the first shambler he saw.

When they’d found the farmhouse, it’d been like a miracle. It looked abandoned, and a few shouts around confirmed it was at least empty. It’d been stripped of almost everything, but there was a fireplace and a bed and a well so it may as well have been a Hilton. He’d put an unprotesting Jack to bed, heated some water, and soaked a rag.

“Take off your shirt and put this over your face, then lay on your belly” he said softly, handing it to Jack. “I’m going to help you get some of this junk out. Don’t worry about being gross.”

“Never have,” Jack croaked with a grin.

“I’m going to have to sit on you--is that okay?” Eugene asked once Jack was settled.

“Mmm. Your timing could be better, but I’m certainly not saying no,” said Jack muttered from his folded arms.

Eugene laughed, “Simmer down, killer. You’re actually not going to like this very much.” He was right. Jack cursed his way through his back being pounded and pressed, through the violent coughing it brought on, through leaning over the edge of the bed to expel the fruits of Eugene’s labor. It wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured himself astride a shirtless Jack for the first time, but, well, there it was. Despite (or maybe because of) the sheer practicality of caretaking, Eugene found it oddly intimate.

In the end, it was enough to ease Jack into much-needed sleep.

While he slept, Eugene went outside to gather some plants he could crumble into a hot broth to ease the inevitable aches Jack would have when he woke. He found some wild garlic, a few mushrooms, and, most miraculously, a few tenacious mallow flowers clinging on well past their season. It wasn’t going to be dinner at Alinea, but it was something.

The thought of Alinea distracted him. He imagined taking Jack there...imagined him dressed up in one of those well-cut suits, every bit the rakish gentry, looking like polished manners and round vowels. He imagined that illusion shattering as Jack reacted in unabashed delight to the apple-flavored helium balloons. Jack would turn his voice funny and make Eugene laugh until he cried by describing all fourteen textures of the scallop in a parody of Eugene’s own pompous vernacular. He’d be all focus, though, when the binchotan came, and Jack’s sounds of delight would lead Eugene to run a possessive hand up Jack’s thigh and flash a smug half-smile at their blushing, distracted waiter. Eugene would take him home and strip him down and run his hands across his back just like he’d done a moment ago, but so much more gently and for so much longer. And when Jack fell asleep, exhausted, under him, this time it wouldn’t be from illness.

This wasn’t Chicago, though, and he came out of that fantasy like falling into a cold lake as he rounded the corner of the house and saw a group of three peeking in the windows.

“He doesn’t look grey,” one with a hatchet said.

“Not yet,” another carrying a pack answered.

“Well, we’ll go in and find out,” said a third, a bit older than the other two, carrying what looked like a large, three-pronged fork.

Through the open window, he heard Jack cough in his sleep.

“Yup, he’s a zom,” Hatched said. “I’ll take him and we can stay here.”

“No, you won’t,” Eugene said calmly, stepping into view.

All three turned, startled.

“This your place?” Fork called.

“I’m Eugene and that’s...that’s Jack. He’s just got a little bit of a sinus infection and we’re staying a day or two until he’s better.  Now, we’re happy to share, but you’re going to have to put that down.” His voice was strong, authoritative. And he was about to throw up.

Hatchet laughed and Fork looked at him with pity.

“Listen, brother, I’m not sure if you know--”

“Yes, actually, I do know, pal,” Eugene said angrily. “He’s been sick since early yesterday and he’s not been bitten. If he was going to change, he would have by now. You can believe me or you can be on your way.”

Hatchet smirked. “If it’s not your place, then I really don’t think you can say that.”

“I can, and I did. Now go.”

Pack seemed to explode. “You people started this and now you’re going to just barge in like you own us. Bloody arrogant Americans.This whole thing is your fault.”

Eugene was caught off guard. “What do you mean, ‘my fault?’”

“The Americans did this to us,” she screamed. “Your scientists and your weapons, I read it online. You made it and it escaped and now we’re all dying!”

“No matter,” Hatchet said, tightening his grip. “American, Welsh, Russian...that one inside’s nothing now. Except kindling. And if we need to go through you to get to him, we’re more than happy to do so.”

“Don’t,” Eugene said, his voice finally betraying him. “Just...just leave now.  I don’t want violence.”

“Typical,” Pack snorted. “You watch too many action movies, mate? You think you can take the three of us?”

“Two,” corrected Fork. “I’m not butchering the living.”

Hatchet turned in shocked disgust. “Really, Zach? We’ve got one half-dead in there--it’s a matter of time at best--and this useless prick who’s been, what, picking flowers? How’s he not been eaten yet I have no idea, but he’d be a drag on us.”

“I don’t care,” Zach said. “I’m not going to kill them.  And I’m not going to let you do it, either. If his friend is sick, he can take care of him when the time comes. If the creatures get him, that’s his business, too, and I’ll run him through without a pang.  But there just aren’t enough of us left to start picking each other off.”

“Zach,” Hatchet started.

“Anyway,” Zach continued. “Maybe if you weren’t such an ignoramus, you’d see this useless prick is a smart useless prick.  You said your boy’s got a stuffed head?” he asked Eugene.

“Um...yeah?”

Zach pointed. “You got some mallow there. Help loosen him up, yeah? My Da used to say they used that during the War, when it was hard getting medicine.”

“Yes! Exactly! I--”

“He’s still an American,” Pack said. “He’s still responsible.”

“Um, no, actually, I’m Canadian, but still, that’s kind of--I mean, you know how much stuff you guys have screwed up, right?”

Zach glared at him. “Now’s not really the time for history lessons, lad.”

Hatchet glared at Zach, then at Pack who just rolled her eyes dramatically and shook her head. “Fine then. Stay here with your boyfriends. But when they bite you and you turn, I’m not going to be here to take you out.”

Zach shrugged. “Be on your way, then.”

When Pack and her companion were gone, Eugene dropped his pipe in relief. “Oh god, thank you, I--”

“You’re an idiot, and now, if we don’t take care of your friend, you’re going to be a dead idiot,” Zach interrupted. “I hated those little shits. They were wild and brutal. They wouldn’t have put down your friend gentle, they would have slaughtered him like an animal. I thought you ought to have a chance to do it right. But you’re going to have to do it.”

Eugene squeezed his eyes shut...just for a second. Just to think. “Listen, Zach was it? I swear on my life he’s not been bitten. I mean, do you think the grey flu killed off all the other stuff that made people sick before? Are you going to kill everyone who gets a stomach bug or...or...heat rash?”

Zach stared at him, thinking, for the longest moment of Eugene’s life. “Let’s have a look at him,” he said at last. “I can at least wait it out with you.”

  
  
  


For two days, Eugene and Zach traded watch and kept Jack supplied with water, broth, and the assurance that he could sleep safely. Zach told them about his farm. How it’d come down for three generations, how his family had kept it through wars. When the flu took his wife, he’d abandoned the farm to search for their three daughters. One in a Somerset, one in Wales, and one away at school in Dublin.

“I’ll walk all I need to to find them,” he’d answered when Eugene commented on the distance he’d be travelling by foot. Eugene felt his chest grow tight at the familiarity of that sentiment.

_ The kitchen light is on, but nobody’s home. Eugene freezes in the empty driveway, scowling at the house, back door open a crack. Confused but grateful, he lets himself in and showers off the smell of cigarettes and contraband beer. It’d been one of the best shows of his life--he’d been crammed in with hundreds of other sweaty, enthralled teenagers, all hands and legs and bodies wound together shoving and grinding. He was supposed to be home hours ago, but when a girl with a head full of braids and barbell through her tongue had asked him and Justin to go get pancakes after...how could he say no? _

_ As he was toweling off, he heard a truck pull into the driveway. _

_ “Eugene?” _

_ “Hey Dad,” he answers, pretending to blink sleepily in the kitchen light. “What’s up?” _

_ “Where have you been?” _

_ He doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t look angry. He looks exhausted. He looks...old. _

_ “What do you mean? I--” _

_Ben looks at him, jaw tight, shoulders curved. “I’ve been out all night, Eugene. I’ve gone everywhere in this town I could think of. I have walked down every goddamned alley between here and Hockinson, called everyone you ever mentioned. And now I have to go to work in two hours.”_

_Eugene doesn’t apologize. He’s too old to cry over a scolding, and if he opens his mouth, he’s going to sob._

_“Get some sleep, son. I’ll talk to you about this when I can be angry.”_

_When his alarm went off for school a few hours later, he was still awake._

__  
Zach had run into Glenna and Shaw two days before running into Eugene and had, he admitted, given them a little too much credit because of their youth. __  


“They’re just kids, right?” he said, shoulder to shoulder with Eugene in at the window. His watch was coming to an end, but he’d lingered on to talk in the quiet dark.  “I wanted to look out for them.” He drew a slow, heavy breath. “There were feral, though. This thing that’s happened.  It changes people--living people.”

Eugene shook his head. “No,” he said, adamant. “I don’t believe that. If they were terrible, it was because they were terrible before. I think...I think what happened just made us more of who we were before.”

Zach smiled. “Well, then, I hope you’re right. You’re a good man.”

“I wasn’t talking about me,” answered quietly. “Why did you defend us?”

“I don’t know,” Zach answered. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Eugene said. “You didn’t even think about it. You’re just made that way. Jack’s like that, too.”

“You didn’t want a fight out there, either,” Zach pointed out.

Eugene chuckled bitterly. “I did that because I’m a coward not because I’m good. I was terrified.”

“Why? They were after Jack.”

“Exactly. That’s what I was afraid of.”

Zach just stared at him for a moment. “And that doesn’t make you good?”

“It doesn’t count,” Eugene sputtered. “He’s...I mean we’re…” He stopped, frustrated, unsure how to go on.

Zach laughed quietly. “Well, then, that counts double.”

  
  
  
  


“Good morning, lazybones!”

Eugene huffed, the air shoved from his lungs as something landed atop him. He rubbed open his eyes and found Jack, eyes bright, perched on his stomach.

“Oh my god, you’re heavy,” Eugene groaned.

“Up up up! I’m ship-shape again and we’re nearly out of tinned meat and I’m half bored out of my skull,” Jack chirped, drumming on Eugene’s chest.

Eugene glanced to the bed, where Zach lay breathing heavy and deep in sleep. Eugene smirked.

“And you want me to entertain you?” he said, voice deep and breaking. He reached up and pulled Jack down to kiss him slow and lazy. Morning breath had stopped being any more horrific than afternoon or evening or running away in the middle of the night breath ages ago. For the man who had always kept mints and condoms in the same drawer, this was true evidence of the breakdown of civilization.

“Well hullo,” Jack grinned tenderly when they parted. “I wasn’t sure you were still...interested.”

“I’m not,” Eugene said, half-closing his eyes. “I’m dreaming. You’re a gorgeous red-head with a nice rack, right?”

Jack’s smile was honey slow and utterly savage as he dragged his hand up, catching the hem of his shirt. Eugene watched as he unveiled sharp pelvic bones, shadow-defined abdominals, a hint of broad chest.  “Believe me, love,” he said in a voice Eugene had never heard from him. “You won’t miss them.”

“Holy…” Eugene breathed. “Okay.”

Jack kissed him again, messy and fierce this time, and Eugene met him in it. Everything he’d been afraid of, for days, rushed back and mutated into desire liked he hadn’t known since he was a teenager. He’d never wanted someone this badly. He wanted to consume Jack. He clenched his hands against Jack’s thighs too hard and the sound Jack made was almost imperceptible.

Almost.

Despite the fact they were slowly losing their horror, it was enough to bring a flicker of nightmares back. Just a little, just enough to dislodge a bit of his hunger and remind him that they weren’t alone. He took Jack’s wrists and peeled him away.

Jack, punch-drunk and panting, blinked in confusion.

“Zach,” Eugene stammered. “He’s still here, you know.”

Jack turned his glazed eyes across the room. “Right,” he said. “Too right. Don’t want to be rude, yeah?”

Eugene patted his leg.  “Get off.”

“I was trying to,” Jack sighed.

Eugene barely stifled a loud laugh. “Be patient. I’m sure we’ll be alone one of these days.”

  
  
  


There seemed to be even more zoms.  Eugene wasn’t sure if the couple days’ respite had made him forget some of the hardship or if some balance had tipped, but it seemed like everywhere they turned there were more. Walking, crawling, dragging, grasping, groaning. Alone, in swarms, old, young, fat, thin, every color and shape and size. The three of them fell into a beautiful symbiosis, though, and fought together with an almost poetic ease.  Zach was calculating, methodical, and deceptively strong. Jack, without the burden of hiding the horrors from Eugene, dropped into his berserker rages instantly and cut through grey bodies like he was scything a field. Eugene, too, was finding a savagery in himself he didn’t realize he was capable of, restrained as it was. He still faltered on fresher looking ones, especially those with kind faces, the elderly, children. He only froze once, when a late middle aged shambler turned on him with the same weak chin and sad eyes as his dad. Zach had efficiently stepped in and dispatched the zombie, leaving Eugene to shake off the cold that had crept into his back.

Watch was so much easier with three. Their shifts were shorter, and their stretches of sleep longer. Eugene often woke to hear Jack chattering away at Zach as they traded places.

“He’s a good fellow,” Jack remarked one day as they watched Zach inspect a well for potential contaminants.

“Yeah, he’s...fatherly,” Eugene observed.

Jack laughed.  “I wouldn’t say that. He’s still here!” The grin he flashed Eugene was not entirely mirthful and Eugene guiltily wondered why he’d never asked about Jack’s dad before.

For nearly two weeks they fell into a routine that was as comfortable as any Eugene had felt since the end of the world. Walking, fighting, resting, foraging, looting, watching. And then one day, they were stomping through the potholed streets of some small town when Zach’s foot anticipated a step that wasn’t there. He didn’t tumble, but he lost hold of his fork and it tangled in his legs. He staggered and made a small, displeased hum in his throat.

“You okay?” Eugene asked, retrieving the fork and wincing at the glob of flesh clinging to one tine. “Looks like you took a pretty good chunk out.”

“Nah, that’s not mine,” he laughed, sitting down. “That belongs to one of those fellows came at us near the bakery. Just got a little nick here on my ankle. It’s a small thing but it hurts like the dickens.”

“Seems like it’s the little ones hurt the most,” Jack said, joining them. “I’ve broken both arms, but nothing hurts like a paper cut on your eyelid.”

Eugene gagged. “Dear Jesus, Jack how do you---you know what? No. I don’t want to know.”

Zach quietly poured a little water on the small cut and stopped the bead of blood with a sock.  “Shouldn’t even scar,” he said. “Let’s be on, unless you boys need your nappies changed.”

After maybe a quarter of an hour, though, Eugene felt a hand on his arm.

“Gene,” Zach said, exhaling slowly. “Maybe we could rest a bit? I’m wore out and that cut is giving me more trouble than its size.”

“Sure,” Eugene said, trying to push away the worry. “Let’s go in there.”

They settled into a largely untouched library. Zach pulled off his boot and sock and rolled up his trouser leg. Jack gasped.

“Oh, that’s a bit swollen, I think,” he said. Swollen was a grotesque understatement.  

“Well, it’s--” Zach began, but was caught short by a deep, heavy cough.

The air around them froze. The silence stretched out, grew heavy, and bore down on them until it was broken by another harsh, rattling fit. Realization came to all three at once.

“You have to be bitten,” Jack breathed. “They have to bite you. They can’t just...you’re not sick, they have to actually…”

But Zach just stared down at this foot, resigned. “Their names are Cynthia, Marie, and Alice. If you find them…”

“I had a cough! Just like that! And I’m better now--Zach, you’ll be fine, just…”

“Jack,” Eugene said softly, taking his hand. “What can we do, Zach? What’s your favorite book?”

Every library has [_Leaves of Grass._](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/1322/1322-h/1322-h.htm) As the sun set, Jack and Eugene passed it back and forth by candle light, raising their voices over the increasingly loud rattle of Zach’s breathing. He didn’t speak, didn’t open his eyes. He just listened.

“‘I will sleep no more,’” Jack read, “‘But arise, you Oceans that have been calm within me.’” His voice broke, and silently, he passed the book off to Eugene, then wandered into the stacks.

Zach stirred his eyes open just a slit. He didn’t speak, but moved a hand away from his side. Eugene took it and continued.

“‘How I feel you, fathomless, stirring, preparing unprecedented waves and storms.’”

  
  
  


With smoke still heavy in the air outside, Jack and Eugene pushed a heavy cart against the library doors and settled in for the night. As the last embers of the funeral pyre died out, they had found themselves too exhausted to go on and gave in to the pantomime simplicity of the smell of books and hearth.

They searched the texts for comfort, reading passages aloud they hoped would bring some semblance of balm to the other, finding the words they’d swaddled themselves in falling short in this new, terrible time. Until Eugene, absently flipping through a volume of poems, stopped short with recognition.

“Jack?” he called. “Can you come here?”

Jack found him in a corner of the reference section, beanbags, blankets, and their own supplies forming a nest with him in the center. Eugene held out a hand.

“Sit with me,” he said. “Let me hold you for a while.”

With Jack comfortable in his arms, he opened the book across Jack’s stomach and read, a quiet murmur in Jack’s ear.

“‘[I like for you to be still](http://schuur451.wordpress.com/2006/10/29/pablo-neruda/),’” he began, and felt Jack shiver. “‘It is as though you are absent and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.’”

Jack took a slow, shaking breath. As he continued, Eugene paused between many verses to kiss Jack’s temple, his cheek, his neck. Nothing sensual, no heat. Just desperate reassurance.

“‘I like for you to be still: it is as though you are absent Distant and full of sorrow, As though you had died...’”

Eugene stopped and squeezed his eyes shut against the ache in his chest and throat. But Jack was crying unashamed and he owed Zach, at least, his mourning.

“‘One word, then,’” he finished through tears, “One word then, one smile, is enough. And I am happy...” He sobbed once and pulled Jack tight, whispering the rest from memory. “‘Happy that it’s not true.’”

They let their grief exhaust them, then sat in silence for a long, long time.

“Jack,” Eugene said suddenly. “If I get bitten.”

“No,” Jack answered in monotone.

“I mean it. If I get bitten, promise me--”

“No,” Jack said again, this time with quiet ferocity.

“God damn it, I’m serious--”

“I am too!” Jack interrupted, eyes on fire. “Because if they get close enough to bite you, that means I’m already dead.”

Eugene stared for a moment and wanted to do something dramatic. The reality of this, of the very implications of their bond, was an enormous weight. Jack would die for him. Jack would kill for him. Jack would kill him.

It was more than his heart could take. He felt a giggle come on, unwelcome and welcome at once.  “I bet you say that to all the boys,” he snickered.

“Oh, no, babe, I swear, you’re my first,” Jack said, mocking, and lay back. “Scout’s honor.”

Eugene squeezed Jack’s knee.  “You do realize that falling in love with someone in the middle of a zombie infestation is incredibly stupid?”

“Nobody ever said I made good choices.”

Eugene watched him for a moment, spent, relaxed, and already healing. “How’s your ipod battery?” he asked.

“Charged and ready. Care for some Utah Saints?”

Eugene cringed. “Ugh, no. I think it’s a good night for Tom.”

“[ _Bone Machine_?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0nq-WDW7Sm8)”

“You read my mind. Now get some sleep. We’re back on two watches, I’m afraid.”

It was strange to be on their own again, and yet not. Despite all that had changed, Eugene felt strangely the same, like something in him was anchored. Like he’d found the part of himself that is immutable--aloof and caring, cautious and just, brooding and perseverant. And that solid, unchanging part of him that was going to keep Jack safe and find them a better end than Zach’s sounded an awful lot like a sad-eyed man he hoped beyond reason was safe in the cold Canadian autumn. By morning, Eugene felt a little less alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bone Machine (the whole thing!): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0nq-WDW7Sm8
> 
> Leaves of Grass (the whole thing!) : http://www.gutenberg.org/files/1322/1322-h/1322-h.htm
> 
> "Me Gusta Cuando Callas/I Like for You to be Still" by Pablo Neruda (Spanish first, then English): http://schuur451.wordpress.com/2006/10/29/pablo-neruda/


	6. Innocent When You Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jack?” he asked, touching Jack’s neck. “You okay?”
> 
> “I feel funny,” he said breathlessly. “But I don’t really know how? Like I feel weak or dizzy or...”
> 
> With enormous care, Eugene pulled Jack into his arms and cupped his head into his shoulder. “You feel safe.”
> 
> Wherein the guys find the most depressing place on Earth (except not), get clean (except not), and talk about feelings (except not).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one song this time--the chapter title: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RBRiuxNpDA
> 
> And a few other heartbreaking versions:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCsHS6ZYfHE  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etHFyQDGBiM
> 
> Listen with someone you love.

The road through the woods and up the hill was unusually well-paved. It wound across creeks, past clear ponds, into the green. Jack and Eugene followed it for hours until it spread out into a clearing and turned into a pristine white gravel drive.  They were tired, they were filthy, they were heartsick, and they’d been wading through more zombies than they could count. Things seemed to be getting so, so much worse. They’d been robbed, held at gunpoint by children, and attacked by humans and zombies in nearly equal measure.

 They had hardly spoken in the last few days. Too busy fighting and passing out when it was their turn or watching anxiously for zombies or other people. Both were equal threats now. In the aftermath of losing Zach, Eugene’s nightmares were back, worse than ever.  One night, Jack leaned over and touched Eugene’s face to wake him gently. He’d gotten a sore jaw for his troubles. After that, Eugene had begged, nearly tearfully, to just let the nightmares happen. Hurting Jack in real life, he’d said, was far worse than what he was dreaming.

 Jack, meanwhile, felt himself growing more and more feral, and Eugene seemed less and less likely to stop him. The last time Jack had taken off in a sprint after a group of three shamblers, Eugene had just watched, passive, and let him spend himself in rage. Eugene still pulled him back if he seemed like he was going to harm humans, though, with a vehemence Jack was grateful for. He couldn’t imagine killing someone alive. As the days grew shorter, so did their hope of coming out of this. Even Jack felt the wear of it, and while he kept his cheer, for Eugene’s sake (“Hey, Eugene--do you think zoms have celebs? Like do you think zom Jordan gets lots of zom followers?”) the last of his optimism was beginning to trickle away.

 Then, there it was. A literal city on a hill. Maybe not a city. More like just a very pretty house. Still.

 Clearwater Hospice was gated and pristine, with gardens overgrown into artful disarray and a ten foot iron fence, joined in an intricately swirled gate. To one side was a call box with “2917*” scratched into the paint above the numbers.

 “It has to have power to work,” Eugene explained as Jack began to punch buttons. “Maybe we can--”

 But with a clanking hum, the chains began their slow spin and the gates rolled open. Even if undead came piling out by the thousands, it would have been worth it to see Eugene’s face twisted into an incredulous gape. The explored the grounds slowly, looking for any sign of life or un-life. They noted solar panels covering the roof and a plastic tub on the porch that called to Jack. They’d get to it, Eugene promised, after they made sure the outside was safe.

 “It’s a hospice,” Eugene said. “That means dying people...who knows what we’ll find.”

 What they found was a fairy ring of white rocks surrounding a mountain of ashes. Rusted bed springs, bits of foam, and charred, broken bones lay cold and quiet among the ruins, with pebbles forming a cross and date to one side.

 They stood silent for a long time, staring into the makeshift crematorium.

 “This has been here for a while,” Eugene said softly. “There’s no smoke and the ashes have been rained on a lot.”

 Jack swallowed. “Do you think it’s…”

 “Yeah,” Eugene answered. “Yeah, they…wow.”

 “I think we should go inside,” Jack said softly. Eugene just nodded.

 On the porch, a purple storage tub sat. “Please Read,” said the lid, and inside was a yellow three ring binder labeled “INFORMATION.”

 First was a letter, written by the staff. It welcomed anyone who came, gave the door code to the front door, and explained where important items like medicine and blankets were located.

 “Please,” it implored in italics, “Respect the sacrifice of our brave patients. Take only what you need. Stay only as long as you need to. Let this keep being a place of comfort.”

 Next came pictures and names--seven photos, seven hand-written notes, seven signatures--of people who came here to die and did so in a way far more spectacular than they could have imagined.  From Elise, age 17, bare-headed smiling with all of her crooked teeth writing pages of poetry and excited encouragement to Asa, age 91, wrinkled, with lost, empty eyes and a childish scrawl of only his name and age, Jack and Eugene read every word.

 At the end was a spreadsheet labeled “Zombie Log.” It began on the same day noted near the ash pile and ended six days ago, with an entry of “No sightings/House cleared.” Each notation recorded where and when a zombie was spotted and how they were dispatched. Jack noticed that, in contrast to what they seemed to be seeing, the number of zombies near here was tapering off. With the book’s reassurance, they keyed in the door code and went inside.

 Jack sniffed. “What’s that smell, Gene? It’s weird.”

 “It’s clean you grubby little field vermin. Oh god, bleach.”

 It was warm and quiet and the lights worked. The roof didn’t leak. The entrances locked. The floor was level and the walls were still scrubbed. Slowly, Jack noticed that it was hard to hear, and while Eugene cautiously but happily opened doors (mostly medical-looking bedrooms, all without mattresses or linens), Jack just stood there in the hallway, staring into the nursing station.

 “Jack!” Eugene called after pulling open a door. “Look at--where did you go?”

 Jack looked down and saw his hands trembling, W.G. shivering out a tiny rhythm against his leg. Eugene left his exploration and walked up to him slowly.

 “Jack?” he asked, touching Jack’s neck. “You okay?”

 “I feel funny,” he said breathlessly. “But I don’t really know how? Like I feel weak or dizzy or...”

 With enormous care, Eugene pulled Jack into his arms and cupped his head into his shoulder. “You feel safe.”

 Jack let out a breath that felt deeper than the one he’d inhaled and something in his stomach and knees and back flew out with it. He let himself lean into Eugene’s strength and closed his eyes against the blue glow of the lights. Eugene rocked him gently and murmured comforting nothings into his hair.

 “Come see what I found,” he whispered at last.

  
  


What Eugene had found was a shower. A very big, very glorious, multi-headed shower in a room that looked something like a spa, but with far more rails, medical equipment, and wall mounted seats.

 “Isn’t she beautiful,” Eugene cooed, running a lecherous hand over one of the detachable heads, eyes glazing over. “God, you are gorgeous. I cannot wait to get in you. It’s been so long.”

 Jack felt his face flush. “Eugene I’m shocked--”

 “I just hope you still have hot water.”

 “Oh.”

 “I’ll take you cold, though, I don’t even care.”

 “I’m sure you would,” Jack muttered.  “Should I leave you two? Let you have a moment with Madam Triton?”

 Eugene turned on him with a leer. “You ever have a threesome?”

 “Couple, actually, but I don’t--oh. Ooh. Well okay then.”

 Eugene reached back and flipped on the water, letting it get warm, then grabbed for Jack. In a pause, Eugene smiled at him, giddy, and swung him a little, side to side. Jack grinned back so hard his cheeks hurt before Eugene murmured, “Come here.” They kissed slowly, but it was enough to draw out the full extent of the desire Jack had been quietly ignoring. He suddenly identified with the zoms on a visceral level, because he was absolutely going to eat this man alive. Except…

 “Hey Eugene,” he said, breaking away abruptly.  “Can you think about anything but how we’d never hear a zom coming over the water?”

 “Nope,” Eugene sighed, resigned. “You go first, I’ll keep watch.”

 The water was lovely warm, almost too hot, and while he’d never been fastidious, feeling the layers of grime and gore and general filth slip away was relaxing. That strange, weak-kneed feeling of comfort strengthened as his scent changed from road to soap.

 “Hey Jack! I found you some clean clothes,” he heard Eugene call. “I’m leaving them right outside, okay?”

 Jack just hummed an affirmative.

 “I found a supply station. Lots of stuff in it,” he continued, sounding a little fidgety. Jack paused in scrubbing his hair. “Some medical tape. I could re-tape W.G.’s grip  for you? Pull off that nasty tape that’s on there.”  Jack started. “No! No, I’m used to it. Let’s not mess with perfection, yeah?”

 Jack scrubbed his stomach, but noticed that Eugene’s shadow didn’t move. “There was a little medicine in there. Some antiseptic. Latex gloves. Um. Other...things?”

 Jack stuck his head out of the curtain. “Other other things? Do you mean rubbery things or slippery things?”

 Eugene slid both hands into his pockets and shuffled a bit, but didn’t break eye contact. “Slippery things. No rubbery things?” He raised his eyebrows and bared his teeth in an expression of exaggerated dubiousness.

 Jack blinked at him steadily. Eugene blinked back. Jack knew he was supposed to be thinking about something right now but he’d be damned if he had the brainpower to figure out what. “Okay!” he chirped and pulled his head back under the water. He heard Eugene exhale hard and watched his shadow disappear.

 When the last of the dirt had swirled down the drain, Jack dried off and pulled on the dark blue scrub bottoms draped over a rail. He tied them low on his hips and carried the shirt out, not wanting to put it on until his thick hair had dried more.

 “Hey Gene!” he said, rubbing the towel across his head. He knew his cheeks and chest would be blotchy from the heat, but tried not to be too self-conscious about it. Eugene was sitting in the floor, a little spaced out, rolling his pipe between one heel and the other. “I’m all ship-shape and Bristol fashion. You’re up.”

 Eugene looked up at him and blinked, mouth open, letting the pipe roll away. “Yes. Yes I am,” he said, voice shaky.

 “Wot?” Jack asked, squirming a little under Eugene’s stare, but smiling in spite of himself. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

 Eugene stood slowly, never looking away, and walked to him, dragging one hand along the wall. “Yeah,” he said, voice low, “But I’ve never seen it healthy. Or safe.”  Eugene leaned in to breathe in heavily near Jack’s neck, never touching him. “Or clean--Jesus you smell good.”

 Jack took a tiny step back. “Now don’t get your gross on me, you ‘grubby little field vermin,’” he mocked.

 “Oh I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eugene breathed onto his shoulder. Jack inhaled sharply. “Not yet, anyway. I need a shower. Badly.”

 “You got some weird kind of soap fetish?” Jack asked when he could think again.

 “Getting one,” Eugene answered as he pulled off his shirt on the way to the shower.

 Jack poked around the spa room for a few moments, then ventured further, back into the hall. He eased opened the room next door.

 “Oh,” he gasped in delight. “Fantastic.”

  
  
  


“Almost ready!” Jack called through the door.

 “What on Earth do you have in there,” Eugene laughed, trying to sound annoyed.

 “You’ll see, you’ll see. Just be patient.”

 “This better not be a zom. Or another damn tin of beans.”

 Jack took a deep breath and shouted “Ta-da!” as he flung open the door.

 Eugene was speechless. While Eugene had showered, Jack had stumbled into a linen room. Floor to ceiling clean bedding--pillows, blankets, sheets, duvets, mattress pads--stacked neatly on shelves. An industrial, two-part sink against the back wall full, Jack pointed out, of hot, soapy water and their clothing. A giant rolling hamper Jack had filled with layers and layers of bedding, spread out and arranged in a nest-like bed. The light from the single, bare bulb was defused by a sheet Jack had strung from shelf to shelf, and a second sheet was looped over an exposed pipe in the ceiling.

 “D’ya like it?” Jack asked nervously.

 “Do I like it?” Eugene asked, staring around the room. “Jack, this is amazing.”

 “Oh, and look!” he said, showing him to the suspended sheet. “Just flip the lock, tie this fellow around the door handle and…voila! All safe and sound and no fear of getting bitten!”

 “Wow! You did this in, like, ten minutes?”

 “More like thirty, actually. What were you doing in there anyway?”

 Eugene looked away with a small, embarrassed smile.  “Well, I mean...it’s been a long time, okay? I...I was really...dirty.”

 “But you’re not dirty anymore?” Jack leaned back against the hamper with a cocky grin. “Not even a little? Took care of that already?”

 Eugene approached and gripped the hamper on either side of Jack’s waist. Jack let his head roll back to look up into Eugene’s face, not fighting the way the contact between them made him feel for once. He’d worked for this. He’d waited for this, and he was not a man given to patience. Some people like to draw out gratification--they find pleasure in the anticipation and intentionally savored. Jack was not that man.

 “I don’t stay clean for long,” Eugene grunted, and Jack kissed him like he’d die if he didn’t. He was pretty sure this wasn’t an exaggeration by much, actually. He’d never gone this long without and was starting to feel that, if he didn’t get laid soon, he’d eat his own hair. Plus he actually liked this big, pretentious Canadian, with his stupid shaggy hair and his stupid dark eyes and his stupid tattoos and his stupid jokes and his stupid eternal kindness.

 “We don’t have to--” Eugene started.

 “Yes we do,” Jack finished quickly and hoisted himself into the hamper. He reached out and wiggled his fingers at Eugene, sprawling out across the blankets. “Come on, then,” he sang.

 “Wait,” Eugene said, crawling into the hamper. He lay on his side next to Jack and propped his head up on one hand.

 “Wait why?” Jack whined.

 “Wait until we figure some things out. I don’t want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

 Jack groaned. “Number one: you won’t, I promise. Number two: if you do, I’ll just tell you to stop. But I really, really cannot reiterate how much you could not possibly come up with something I don’t want to do to you. Or have done to me. Or haven’t done at some point. Okay, there’s one thing I haven’t done, but unless I’m making too many assumptions about what’s in your trousers--which is perfectly alright if I have, by the way--I don’t see it being an issue.”

 Eugene smiled softly and ran gentle fingers down Jack’s stomach, then slowly wound the string of Jack’s scrub trousers around one finger. “Understood. But I’m still going to ask. I like to hear you say ‘yes.’ There’s no rush here. We’re safe and warm and clean...”

 Jack snorted. “You’re clean. You cleaned yourself up real nice in there so it’s pretty easy for you to gab on. I, however, thought you might want an hand in the whole...cleaning process and--”

 Eugene ignored him and kissed either side of his neck. Then each of his shoulders. Then collar bones...chest left to right...ribs right to left...stomach...and paused at his navel.

 “Oh, I am most definitely cleaning you up,” he hummed. “But I wouldn’t exactly say I’m going to have a hand in it.”

 Jack snickered. “Really? That wasn’t even an innuendo that’s just--” But he was suddenly confronted with the previously unimagined benefits of being in bed...in hamper...whatever...with a man who made his living with his mouth.

  
  
  


Jack stretched and curled his toes over the side of the hamper. “Monkey Toes,” his sister had called them. Not terribly creative, but, to be fair, she’d only been six at the time. God, he missed her sometimes. He wasn’t completely sure why lying here naked in a laundry basket wrapped up in hospital blankets and a really extraordinarily talented food critic brought it on, but, well. There it was.

 “Oh!” he said out loud. “It’s like a cot!”

Eugene jerked awake and raised a sleepy head from Jack’s chest. “Wazzat?”

 “The hamper!” Jack said, gesturing. “It’s like a baby’s cot! That’s why I miss my sister!”

 Eugene blinked at him for a few dazed moments. “I have no idea what’s happening right now.”

 “She was littler than me, right? And sometimes I’d climb into her cot with her and snuggle and I got to missing her all of a sudden and couldn’t figure out why I was sad because I really, really have no reason to be--I mean, wow, Eugene, I may never have a reason to be sad again--but I was, then I realized...the laundry hamper is like a baby’s cot! So I miss my sister.”

 “Aw,” Eugene cooed. “That’s really sweet. I think?”

 Jack shrugged. “I dunno. I think it’s sweet. It means I feel safe and happy, here with you.”

 He heard Eugene’s breath catch. “That’s...that means a lot me, actually.” Eugene leaned over him, and watched his face with gentle eyes. He touched Jack’s cheek, Jack’s neck, let his hand rest over Jack’s heart. With a soft smile, he bent down and kissed Jack’s forehead. It made Jack’s throat ache and he thought, for a moment, that he was going to cry.

 “Well, I’m fighting sleep, don’t have any clothes, and haven’t had solid food in ages. If my bum needed cleaning, I think it’d be just like nursery,” he said with a shaky laugh.

 Eugene cocked an eyebrow and slid atop him, pinning his hands. “We could work on that. And I think we could add ‘can’t walk properly’ for maximum verisimilitude.”

 “I don’t know what that means, but I like it.”

  
  
  


“Hey Eugene.”

 “Oh my god, how are you still awake?”

 “I dunno. So I was wondering--”

 “No, really. How many times do I have to get you off before you go to sleep?”

 “I dunno. So anyway--”

 “How old are you? Seriously. Because right now I feel like I just took about thirteen Xanax.”

 “I’m...wait, how old are you? Like, old? Like, forty?”

 “I’m...okay, hang on. Does your age at least start with a two?”

 “Yes? What does yours start with? A five?”

 “A three, actually.”

 “Ooh! An older gent! Are you going to take care of me, daddy?”

 “Yeah, no. I’m, like..so, so, so not into that, thanks.”

 “But--”

 “No. Absolutely, positively no.”

 “Okay, but I was wondering.”

 “Go. To. Sleep. Jack.”

 “Will you cuddle me?”

 “I am.”

 “You have your hand on my arm. That’s not cuddling.”

 “Yes it is. Cuddling is sustained physical contact for the purpose of closeness or comfort.”

 “How did you--you just made that up, didn’t you?”

 “Yup. Go to sleep.”

 “So Eugene--”

 “Oh for--what, Jack. What is it.”

 “What’s the difference between cuddling and snuggling?”

 “I don’t...um...snuggling implies a need for warmth? Like snuggling is cuddling but also trying to stay warm?”

 “Hm. Okay then. Hey Eugene. Will you snuggle me?”

 “Of course. Come here.”

  
  


Jack woke with a start to the sound of Eugene’s quiet wails.

 “Gene, wake up! Wake up, Eugene, you’re dreaming.” Jack pulled him as close as he dared and whispered quiet comfort in his ear. “You’re safe, I’m here. We’re fine, we’re safe, I’ve got you.”

 Eugene met his eyes, panicked and panting before squeezing them shut and clinging hard. “Oh god,” he said at last, nearly sobbing. “That was the worst one yet.”

 Jack rested his back against the side of the hamper and arranged Eugene against his chest. “Will you tell me?” he asked, running his fingers through Eugene’s hair. “Please?”

 He felt Eugene tense. He made some sounds of aborted sentences then stopped. “I...don’t think I can.”

 “Try, love.”

 Eugene took a long, trembling breath. “They’re...they’re about you,” he said deliberately. “They’re always about you.”

 Jack felt many things then, but surprise wasn’t one of them. “And what do I do,” he asked softly. “Do I hurt you?”

 “Not at first,” Eugene said with an unsteady laugh. “Actually, you...well, I mean, it always starts with us together. Like this. How is always different, but I’m always making love to you and it’s amazing, but then--” Eugene coughed, nearly a gag. “Then you change.”

 “Change like…?”

“Yeah. Like...that.”

Jack bit his lips and tried to keep from shaking. Tried to make his breath even.

“Are you...laughing?” Eugene asked, sounding a little angry.

Jack couldn’t help it. He burst. “Eugene that’s disgusting! That’s not scary, that’s gross!”

“Ha ha, very funny, I think--”

“Oh my god! You know that’s got to be a thing, right? Like, somebody out there totally has it in for zombies!”

He felt Eugene loosen a bit. “You mean, Rule 34?”

“Yes! Exactly! People wanted to shag zoms before they even existed! Can you imagine? Somewhere out there--”

“Somewhere out there, somebody looked out the window, saw shamblers in the street, stood up from his computer and said, ‘My time has come.’”

They laughed until they hurt. Until every shred of tension and fear had fled Eugene’s body and he was left limp and relaxed against Jack. Jack held him for a while, smiling down on his dark head, dragging his fingertips along Eugene’s spine.

“You see? It wasn’t as bad as all that, was it, love?” Jack tightened his arms and kissed the part in Eugene’s hair.

Eugene raised his head and caught Jack’s eyes with a look of naked vulnerability. “Do you know what it does to me when you call me that?” Jack tilted his head in confusion. Eugene shook his head. “‘Love.’ I know it’s a British thing, but, god...it stops my heart.”

Jack swallowed. “I...it is a British thing, yeah. And I’ve said it a lot, to a lot of people. But...I mean...that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. It doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.”

Eugene watched his face for a long, long moment, like he memorizing him. Like Jack used to look at things he’d sketch. He cupped Jack’s head in his hands and leaned in, slow, deliberate, and kissed him. They’d kissed before, probably hundreds of times by now--probably dozens in the last few hours alone. Something felt different here. There hadn’t been a confession, exactly. Not in so many words...and anyway, Jack felt like it’d be sort of tacky to say it the first time in bed (hamper, whatever). But there was an understanding. That Eugene needed Jack to love him in a way that was more desperate, more intense, than Jack had previously understood. It felt like a burden. It felt like a challenge. This was one challenge, though, that Jack knew he was up for.

“You remember what you said to me when I was sick?” Jack asked quietly, pressing Eugene onto his back.

“Don’t wipe your snot on me?” Eugene grinned.

Jack settled astride Eugene’s stomach and pressed firm hands into his chest, up across his shoulders, down his arms, and pulled Eugene’s hands onto his thighs.

“No,” he answered, not being drawn into their usual banter. “You said, ‘I’m going to take care of you.’” He reached out and cupped Eugene’s jaw. “Eugene? I’m going to take care of you, too.”

And take care of him he did, for as long as they could both bear. He was gentler than he’d ever been, asked more questions (“What do you like?” “Is this okay?” “How about here?”), studied him harder than he’d ever dreamed of studying anything in school. He didn’t make him beg--begging, he thought, isn’t romantic. Being begged is nothing Jack had ever enjoyed, in any context, especially not when he’s trying to make someone feel amazing. Asking and answering. Anticipating. That was Jack, and that was what he wanted for this man who’d so rent his heart.

Eugene wasn’t a screamer, wasn’t loud or showy. He said Jack’s name through clenched teeth once, mostly just gasped and quietly called on god. It was hard to focus, hard to be selfless, but Jack found a measure of satisfaction in watching Eugene’s face fall from contorted bliss to soft contentment. He wound them together a lay quietly while Eugene dozed.

“What about you?” Eugene muttered into his hair.

Jack ran his hand up Eugene’s side. “I’m good.”

“Well, yeah, that’s definitely not in question. But wouldn’t you like to...get cleaned up? C’mon, whatever you want.”

Jack sighed and propped himself up on Eugene’s chest. “Well...I think...no. Never mind.”

Eugene wrapped his arms around him. “No, wait, it’s cool, tell me.”

“I just…”

“It’s okay, Jack. Tell me what you need.”

“I need…”

“Yeah?”

“I need…” Jack took a deep breath and held it, staring into Eugene’s trusting eyes. “BRAINS!” he bellowed and sunk his teeth hard into Eugene’s shoulder.

Eugene shrieked and tried to shove him away, but Jack’s arms and legs were far too strong. “Oh you little shit!” he half-laughed.

Jack just growled and bit his way up Eugene’s neck. “Grr. I’m going to shag your BRAINS out!”

“Nooo,” Eugene yelped. “Not  _la petite mort_ !”

Jack guffawed. “ _Vous êtes maintenant faire des plaisanteries sur français? Vous êtes un trolleur_ .”

Eugene’s eyes widened. “ _Je ne savais pas que vous parlez français_ !”

Jack laughed. “ _Pas très bien. Je ne savais pas que vous parlez français, soit._ ”

Eugene rolled his eyes. “ _Alimentaire Canadienne critique. Bien sûr, je ne_ . Um...but I’m not exactly fluent. Unless we’re about to talk about a menu.”

“I’m begging you not to talk about decent food right now. I’m starving.”

“Well, man cannot live on love alone. Let’s get out of this hamper and find something to eat.”

Jack watched him climb out, dizzy with joy. He felt a sudden, guilty gratitude for the end of the world. And while he knew he shouldn’t indulge, he allowed himself one moment of acknowledgement: it was almost worth it to have met this man. Eugene turned to grab a towel, and Jack took in an admiring breath for the soft lines of his arms, his waist, his thighs, his--

“Gene?” Jack asked, scowling. “What the hell is that on your left leg?”

This beautiful, stoic, utterly ridiculous man.

  
  
  


“Pumpkins!” Jack gasped, sprinting toward a leaf-covered flash of orange. “I found pumpkins!”

They’d been at Clearwater for three days and were finally feeling brave enough to explore the grounds. (Jack wondered, though, exactly how much of Eugene’s caution had simply been excuses to drag Jack to the shower or the physio tub or the hamper. He seemed far more interested in exploring Jack than the house.)  Outside, the grounds were browning in the chill, but were autumnally beautiful in glowing colours.

“You found--ohh.” Eugene made a sound Jack did not associate with vegetables.  

Stakes peeked out of the groundcover, and yellowing weeds all but obscured it, but there, not far off the kitchen entrance were the wilding remains of a garden. Jack saw pumpkins and some squash. Eugene identified garlic, some edible mushrooms, and some leeks.

They raided as much as they thought they could eat before it spoiled, left some for future travellers, and lugged their haul into the kitchen. Eugene picked a leaf from Jack’s hair.

“You’re a mess,” he said fondly.

“Wonder how that happened,” Jack said with a grin.

Eugene shrugged and kissed him on the cheek. “How about this--you go get cleaned up and I’ll make us some actual dinner. Sound good?”

Jack didn’t have proper words for how very good it sounded, so he just nodded and dashed off to take the quickest shower in history. Once he was dried, though, he paused in front of the mirror. His hair was hanging in his face, his scrubs were far too loose, and despite never being able to grow a proper beard, he had something like a patchy smearing across his jaw. He scowled at himself and realized that this was a date. A real, live, post-apocalyptic date, and he was about to bounce off to it looking like....well, looking like he usually did, but for reasons he didn’t feel like examining, he wanted to do better.  He found a razor, mussed his hair into artful disarray, and changed into his now-clean jeans and jumper. Just as he was throwing his soiled scrubs into the sink, Eugene knocked on the door.  

“Hey Jack? It’s ready. Come to the front room with the windows, okay?”

As he reached for the door handle, Jack realized that, god help him, he was actually nervous. He was suddenly self-conscious about his efforts. They’d been shagging non-stop for three solid days and he was wearing the same thing he’d been wearing on the road, just with a lot less grime--what exactly was he trying to prove here? He knew Eugene would tease him about it, and contemplated changing back into scrubs.

“Jack? Everything okay in there?”

“Be right there!” he called, a took a breath.

He didn’t see the fluorescent blue of the overhead lights coming from the sun room. Instead, there was a quiet orange glow peeking softly around Eugene’s fidgety shadow in the doorway.

“Hey,” Eugene said, nervously twirling a spoon in one hand. He’d changed out of his scrubs, too.

“Hey,” Jack answered.

Eugene had dragged the coffee table to the center of the sun room, draped it with a sheet and ringed it with pillows for seats. Dishes were laid out, piled with roasted vegetables in delicate arrangements, and all was lit by a dozen or so emergency candles throughout the room.

“It’s beautiful,” Jack said breathlessly. “I don’t know what to say. You did this for me?”

Eugene shrugged. “Well, I mean...I kind of did it for me, too. This feels...almost normal, you know? Like, if we’d met before and we were dating, this is what I’d do.”

“Wow,” said Jack. “You’ve had some lucky lovers.”

Eugene laughed. “I told you. I say stupid things, stick around...here’s my stable and grown-up A-game.”

“Well, I’m honored. I don’t usually get someone’s A-game. I’ll put out for anything above an M game.”

“Really? Because I was barely throwing out a Q before.”

“Shut up, I’m starving.”

They ate, and toyed with the fiction of normalcy, commenting on the vintage of the tap water, complaining about the service (“I haven’t seen our waiter once since we got here”) until Jack noticed a vein of doubt easing through him.

“Eugene?” he asked cautiously, pushing a leek to the side. “How do you think...what do think things would be like if it weren’t for the flu? With us, I mean?”

Eugene kept watching his plate, not noticing anything uncomfortable. “Well, we’d use condoms like civilized adults, for one thing.”

“No, I mean...like...do you think we’d be together? Like this?”

“Probably not. You’d probably still be passed out in Hampshire by the time I got back to Canada,” Eugene laughed.

Jack sighed. “But...would you like me still? If we did meet, somehow? Would you still want to cook me dinner and light candles?”

The quiet lasted far too long. Jack looked up and saw Eugene frowning thoughtfully.  “You know,” he said at last.  “I don’t know. Things were so different then. I mean...I don’t really think we were each other’s type, were we?”

To be fair, he asked for it. But it still stung.  “How am I ‘not your type’?” he scowled.

Eugene reached for his hand. “I just mean...Okay. Look. I was a thirty-something globetrotting, kind of snobby professional.  You were a drug-fueled....what did you do anyway?”

Jack waggled his head. “Yeah, mostly just ‘drug fueled’ whatever.”

“So...yeah. You would have made fun of me for being stuffy. I would have rolled my eyes at you for being immature. We’d both be right and we’d both be wrong.”

“So when a better option comes along--”

“You’ll toss me over for someone who still has a pill stash.”

“And you’ll toss me over for someone with an heirloom tomato collection.”

The both laughed lightly, and Jack slid their fingers together. “I don’t like this part. I want more kissing.”

Eugene smiled. “I can do that,” he said, and drew Jack across the table with firm hands around his jaw.  After a long kiss, Eugene drew back and touched the tip of Jack’s nose with his own.  “Can I walk you home?”

“Hm.  I suppose. Don’t try to get fresh, though. I’m not that kind of boy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eugene said, and pulled him down into the pillows.

  
  
  


“There’s something I meant to talk to you about,” Eugene said, later.  

Jack put down the fork he’d been examining. “I thought we already did that. Need to get one more in before you send me packing?”

“What?” Eugene said, offended. “No! Of course not. No, I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“Well?”

“I think we should leave soon.”

Jack thought for a moment.  “Alright. Why?”

Eugene sat up. “We can’t stay here forever. And...I kind of want to respect the people who were here before, you know?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Besides, we were going north.”

“So it’s cool?”

“Are you coming with me?”

“Well yeah. Of course I am. I’m with you. Period.”

“Then it’s cool. When do you want to go?”

“We’ll clean everything up for the next people and fill out the log tomorrow, then maybe we can go the day after that?”

Jack watched the candles flicker and looked out into the darkness beyond the window. It was terrible out there. They’d see more horrible things, and they may very well die. They were safe in here, and warm, as long as the food held out, and as long as nobody else came along and tried to oust them.  But he remembered the ashes in the courtyard and the book on the porch and letters from people who died sooner than they had to to save supplies for them. They’d healed here, in a way the residents never could have, and in a way that would have been impossible with anybody else around. He owed it to them--to Elise, to Asa--to leave a quiet haven for whoever else came along.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready to go.”


	7. God's Away on Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack fell to the floor of the petrol station and sprawled out, feet landing with a clunk on a low shelf. “How far did we walk?” he groaned. Eugene fell next to him, legs shaking. “What were you people, anyway? Military? Olympians?”
> 
> “Hedgies,” Shawn laughed. “Funded some pretty nice adventures, though. We did the Three Peaks Challenge every year and were working on the Seven Summits. We were supposed to do Aconcagua this in May, but, well. I don’t suppose flights will be up by then. Probably never get the one in Antarctica.”
> 
> “I don’t know what that means, but it sounds horrible,” Jack said.
> 
> Wherein Jack wins people over and loses at dancing, Eugene wins the battle but loses the war, and the author wins a Pyrrhic victory over Nielrian but loses her self-respect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W9mhsW5aWJM
> 
> This chapter contains spoilers (sort of?) for S3 radio's first drop. It's based around something Jack and Eugene talk about there, but clearly it doesn't spoil the actual events of the game proper.
> 
> Playlist at the end. You'll know.

It was their last morning at Clearwater, so Eugene took his time, showering and dressing. They were packed, restocked, refreshed and ready to go back on the road. He’d be happy to say here--cultivate the vegetables, keep up the house, have breakfast and showers and Jack as much as he wanted. But there had already been rumors of the settlements up north turning people away. They were too crowded or people weren’t useful enough, or one of a hundred other reasons the gates might slam shut. Jack and Eugene were fit and able-bodied, and while Jack was a savage, effective fighter and Eugene knew more than the average person about foraging, that was a thin premise for salvation. Every day they delayed, the chances of finding refuge dwindled.

 

So at last, he wandered outside to find Jack. The gardens were empty, as was the drive out front. In the back, though, he found Jack next to the ash pile, sitting on his heels, eyes closed. His hands were clasped between his thighs, and his lips moved softly as he rocked with an almost imperceptible sway, keeping rhythm to something in his head. The rose of the climbing sun lit him up like everything home--the ambers and golds and coppers of good honey and good beer and turning leaves. He opened his eyes slowly, and Eugene saw the green flash of the aurora in them. He took a breath and tried to calm his heart.

 

“Come to fetch me?” Jack asked quietly.

 

“Just checking,” Eugene answered. “Carry on.”

 

“I’m done,” Jack sighed. “It’s a bit silly, isn’t it?”

 

“It’s not silly at all.” He wondered who Jack was praying to, but didn’t need to know.

 

“Are we ready to go?”

 

Eugene paused. They were. They should leave. But he couldn’t stand the thought of taking Jack from innocence to savagery all at once. Instead, he held out a hand and pulled Jack up from his knees and into his arms.

 

“Not yet. Come inside with me. One last time.”

  
  
  
  
  


“Oh man,” Eugene panted. “It’s been a while. I think I was getting rusty.”

 

“Nah, you were great,” Jack said, stretching. “I could use that shower again, though.”

 

Eugene wiped the blood off his forearm with a towel, then tossed it to Jack, who smeared a bit of bone away from his eye.

 

“Ugh. Don’t remind me that we used to be clean.”

 

Two days out from Clearwater, evasion had failed, and Jack and Eugene were forced to confront their first zombie since their respite. Eugene had worried that they would be complacent, but both had fallen back into survival instincts without so much as a pause.

 

“I like you dirty,” Jack winked.

 

Eugene snorted. “Well, I guess that’s good. Hey, do you hear--”

 

“HALT.”

 

“ Halt?” Eugene mouthed to Jack with a snicker.

 

“Right?” Jack whispered.

 

They froze and put their hands up as a woman holding a drawn bow slowly stood from the bushes. Two men with knives crept in from the side. As the group approached, Jack and Eugene realized at approximately the same time that these were seriously the three most attractive people they’d seen in a long, long time.

 

“Hey Gene,” Jack said. “Are we exclusive?”

 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we never established that.”

 

“I’m calling it a ‘no.’”

 

“I am in agreement.”

 

“On your knees!” barked the man on their right. The man on their left approached with rope.

 

“Oh, I like where this is going,” Jack said, sinking down. The woman with the bow snorted, then caught herself. The man on their right scowled.

 

“Eh. I’m not really into bondage,” Eugene said as his hands were bound.

 

“Really?” said Jack. “But what about when we--”

 

“No, no, that was more about texture than--”

 

“Oh, so a cotton--”

 

“SHUT UP” barked the man who had previously been on their right. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Um...not dying?” Eugene shrugged. 

 

“Oh Gene, I had a good one.”

 

“Oh sorry. Continue.”

 

“Thank you--ahem. ‘You, if you’re lucky.’”

 

“That wasn’t good. That was juvenile.”

 

“Maybe a little, but--”

 

“Gita! Shoot the next one that speaks.”

 

The woman with the bow, Gita apparently, rolled her eyes and loosened her draw. “Oh for pity’s sake, Shawn. You afraid they’re going to flirt you to death?”

 

Shawn sighed and seemed to count. “Eziki? Help me here?”

 

The man who had bound them, Eziki, shrugged. “I agree. They seem harmless.”

 

Shawn looked at Jack hard for a moment. “Does it work?” he asked. “The ‘too poncy to be a threat’ act?”

 

Jack sputtered, offended. “You are making assumptions about--”

 

“Jack, you were literally just talking about having sex with a me,” Eugene said. “Having said that, Shawn? That your name? Yeah, I don’t really care if it’s the zombie apocalypse, that’s no excuse for hate-speech.”

 

“Since when was ‘poncy’--”

 

“Shawn!” Gita shouted. “We’re not here to argue semiotics. Figure out if they’re a threat, kill them, or let them go.”

 

“We have a cricket bat and a lot of ace bandages. You have a bow, knives, and, like, Captain America and Falcon here,” Eugene said. “...and the world's smallest Black Widow. The only thing you're in danger of is more of Jack’s terrible innuendo.”

 

“Worked on you,” Jack muttered.

 

“Yeah, but I don’t look like them.”

 

“Aw love, I think you’re beautiful.”

 

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

“Wait, you have ace bandages?” Eziki asked. “What else do you have?”

 

“Um...rubbing alcohol...pumpkin...scissors…”

 

“Do you want to travel with us?” he blurted.

 

Shawn held up a hand. “Wait--”

 

“No, Shawn. We need medical supplies.”

 

“He’s right,” Gita said. “We spent the last of our antiseptic a week ago.”

 

Shawn nodded and sighed. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. And I’m not going to argue with consensus. So you two want to join us for a while?”

 

Jack was blinking in confusion. “Hold on...why aren’t you just robbing us?”

 

“Because we don’t rob people?” Shawn said.

 

“And more eyes are always welcome,” added Gita. “And if you two have made it this long--plus gotten rare supplies--with a pipe and a bat, you must be pretty good.”

 

“Well, I don’t like to brag…” Jack grinned.

 

“Yes you do,” Eugene said.

 

“And you have really good morale,” Shawn added. “That’s very important in a survival situation. You stayed calm even when we were arguing and played to the sympathies of the kinder party members. That’s a valuable skill.  This one--” he pointed at Jack, “could probably charm the pants off a nun.”

 

“Priest, but yeah,” Jack volunteered.

 

“Seriously?” Eugene looked horrified.

 

“Well, I mean, he hadn’t made it all the way through seminary...so....”

 

Gita laughed. “Oh, we have to keep them.”

 

Eziki untied their hands and helped them to their feet. “Eziki,” he said, offering a hand. 

 

“Jack.”

 

“Eugene.”

 

“I’m Gita.”

 

“And I’m Shawn,” he said. “Sorry about the ‘poncy’ thing. Had to see how you’d react. I’m the last guy to say something like that and mean it, believe me.” Then he winked. At Jack. Fortunately, Eugene was not the jealous type. Fortunately.

  
  
  
  


Jack fell to the floor of the petrol station and sprawled out, feet landing with a clunk on a low shelf. “How far did we walk?” he groaned.  Eugene fell next to him, legs shaking. “What were you people, anyway? Military? Olympians?”

 

“Hedgies,” Shawn laughed. “Funded some pretty nice adventures, though. We did the Three Peaks Challenge every year and were working on the Seven Summits. We were supposed to do Aconcagua this in May, but, well.  I don’t suppose flights will be up by then. Probably never get the one in Antarctica.”

 

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds horrible,” Jack said.

 

Shawn bent and ruffled Jack’s hair. “Don’t get too cozy there, mate. We’ve still got bite check, prep, planning, and nourishment. Speaking of--” he turned to call to Eziki and Gita. “Bite check!”

 

Shawn pulled off his jacket, then his shirt, then his undershirt. As he went for his belt buckle, Eugene looked away, only to see Eziki in boxer briefs and Gita in a sports bra and boy shorts. Jack kicked him. “Stop that.”

 

“What?” Eugene yelped.

 

“I don’t want you getting a taste for the ladies again.”

 

“That is...wow, that is so not how that works.”

 

“Don’t care.”

 

“You better give me something better to look at, then.”

 

Jack rolled into a semi-sitting position and pulled off his jumper. “I think for once I may not  have better,” he muttered.

 

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen you in a sports bra.”

 

“And you never will,” Jack said, eyes on Eziki’s stomach. Eugene punched him in the arm. “Ow?” Jack said.

 

“Don’t want you getting a taste for the attractive again.”

 

Jack grinned. “That is so not how that works.”

  
  
  
  
  


Gita sat cross-legged on her very expensive-looking sleeping bag, fidgeting with a small radio. Static hissed out, uninterrupted as she slowly turned the dial. Jack was with Shawn and Eziki, foraging around the station, looking for something besides their tins of beans and pumpkin to eat, and Eugene had finished cleaning and checking their weapons. 

 

“What are you listening for?” he asked, sitting next to her.

 

“People,” she said, tipping her head to the speaker when the static had something of a break. “We’ve heard some things--beeps, definitely, and some voices. We haven’t made out much, but we’re following the signal. I’m checking to see if it’s stronger here. We’re pretty sure it’s north-northeast.”

 

Eugene went back to Jack’s pack and got out their headphones. “Here,” he said, handing them over. “This might help.”

 

She smiled in thanks and plugged them in.  After a few moments, she started.  “Oh, here we go! The beeps!”

 

Eugene watched her eyes unfocus and he brow furrow as she concentrated on what she was hearing. She tuned the knob a little, listened, tuned again. Suddenly her eyes went wide. “Words!” she gasped. “Um...’run’...’south’...’same?’ ‘Sam?’ not sure...’four’...”  She listened for a while longer, then shook her head. “That’s it. Nothing useful, I’m afraid, but at least we’re on the right track.”

 

Jack came bounding over with two cans. “Tinned beets!” he said, dropping next to Eugene. “Yum yum! Or, you know, at least not beans.”

 

“Jack, Gita heard people on the radio!” Eugene said, excited.

 

“Oh,” said Jack. “That’s...good?”

 

“It’s very good,” she said. “We should be finding a settlement soon--one with communication equipment. If they can spare the power for radio, they must be doing quite well.”

 

Jack’s face, though, was not one of someone who thought this was “very good.” Jack had been a little skittish all day, but Eugene had written it up to nerves. In truth, Eugene was a little nervous about joining a new group himself, and didn’t blame Jack for being wary. This was different, though. They were drawing closer to a destination they’d been looking for since day one, and Jack seemed less than enthused. He opened his mouth to ask about it, but Gita grabbed his arm. 

 

“What was that?” she hissed.

 

They all froze and listened closely. There was a groan and growl and a wet splatter. Jack reached behind him, slowly, for W.G. and Gita rose to her feet and made a click sound, which Eziki, creeping in from the east, answered.

 

The sound came again, and Eugene joined Jack, hand on the small of his back. Eziki made a hand sign, and Gita nodded. “It’s coming from the back room. You go left, we’ll surround the door,” she whispered.

 

Gita and Eziki were completely soundless as they slid like shadows through the store. When they reached the door, they waited for a break in the noise. Gita drew her bow and nodded at Eziki, who pulled open the door. Jack stepped in, W.G. raised, and immediately jumped back.

 

“Oh, ew, gross,” he gagged. 

 

No zombies. Just Shawn on his knees by a puddle of wretched pink sick and empty plastic bags of marshmallows.

 

“What the hell, Shawn?” Gita shouted, throwing her arrow at his bent head.

 

He just shook his head miserably. “God, I used to love those things.”

 

Jack blinked at him. “Not any more,” he said dryly.  Eugene laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall. Gita and Eziki just stared for a moment, then slowly, carefully, began to laugh, too.

  
  
  
  


Because they were new, Jack and Eugene volunteered to do watch that night. Jack sat by the door, staring out, W.G. across his lap, as Shawn explained their method for keeping watch.  Eugene watched his silhouette in the blue moonlight and felt his heart swell. Jack had kept their new companions in stitches through dinner with his stories from the road (“...and I swear to you, an actual Great Dane jumped out of the back of the van! And Eugene goes...he seriously looks at me and goes ‘ruh-roh.’”)  Eugene had seen Gita and Eziki and Shawn glance at each other with significant smiles and subtle nods all evening. The meaning was clear: they’d made a good choice picking up this one. Eugene just hoped he could prove as valuable. Jack lit up the world, and Eugene tried to be content in the shadow he cast.

 

“How long’ve you been together?” Gita asked, spreading out a collection of knives. “You and Jack.”

 

“Oh, since the beginning. I tripped over him in a field and he wasn’t dead.” Eugene laughed quietly. “Not exactly  Sleepless in Seattle , but what do you do.”

 

She looked surprised. “So you met after? I’d just assumed....”

 

“No,” Eugene said, watching Shawn pull Jack’s arm around to show him how to pivot without turning his head. If he counted the seconds they touched, what of it. “It’s funny. We were just talking about how, if this hadn’t happened, there’s no way we would have met. We’re very different.”

 

Gita frowned. “How so? You seem like a matched set to me.”

 

“Well, I mean, I’m Canadian, for one thing. I was here on business. And he...well, he liked to have a good time, if you know what I mean.” The sound of Jack’s laugh carried back to them. 

 

“So you were kind of...stodgy?”

 

“I mean, I wouldn’t say that. I’m just saying...look, the kind of places I went, I’d have been more likely to meet you than him.” Gita’s half smile and skeptical look made him realize how that sounded. The sight of Shawn’s hand on Jack’s shoulder made him let it sit.

 

“Somehow I don’t think I’m your type,” she said with a wry smile.

 

“Oh, I’m not gay,” he grinned. ”But my boyfriend is.”

 

Gita bumped his shoulder with her own. “You’re right. You _are_ very different. You aren’t nearly so funny as he is.”

 

“Yes, but I can pair wine with 317 different proteins. Or I could if wine still existed. So I’ve got that going for me, at least.”

 

Gita watched Jack with him, watched Shawn drift away and let her eyes linger over to where Eziki sat meditating. “I couldn’t do it,” she said. “With all this? Getting attached to someone just seems like such a bad idea. And a good way to get yourself killed.”

 

“I told him that,” Eugene said softly. “But...you don’t get to pick, you know? I think especially with him. He just seems to happen to people.”

 

She seemed to think a moment, then laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short,” she said. “I can see where you’d just happen to somebody, too.” With a soft squeeze, she said “goodnight,” and went back to her bag. He watched her go, then watched Jack, quiet and still and tense, but drumming his fingers with the simple grace that, even in the thickest of battles, never seemed to leave him. Eugene lay back, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep, but the memory of Jack’s disquiet wouldn’t let him.

 

“Care if I join you?” he asked.

 

Jack shrugged. “If you want.”

 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, resting a hand on Jack’s thigh. “I guess I got used to your snoring.”

 

“I don’t snore,” Jack said, fighting a smile.

 

“And your cold feet. I got used to those. And your hair up my nose.” He reached up and brushed Jack’s hair behind his ear.  “You going to tell me what’s bothering you? You didn’t seem to excited to hear from civilization. You going feral on us?”

 

Jack grinned down between his knees. “Possibly. It wasn’t much of a stretch to begin with.”

 

“That’s true. How do you already stink, anyway?”

 

Jack’s smile faded from his eyes and turned bitter. “Well, I suppose we can’t all smell like rose shampoo and estrogen.”

 

“Humans can’t smell estrogen, Jack. Maybe you  are feral, if you can.”

 

Jack just huffed and stared back outside.

 

Eugene wrapped an arm around his shoulders, but aborted pulling him closer when he felt them stiffen. 

 

“You dodged me,” Jack said at last. “Back at Clearwater. When I asked if you’d still want me when you had better options. You didn’t answer, you just made a joke.”

 

Eugene blew out a hard, deep breath. “Yeah, okay. That’s...that’s fair. I didn’t answer.”

 

The pause seemed indefinite. A hundred things rushed up inside Eugene, begging to be said.  I can’t look at you when we fight because your body moves so beautifully I get distracted and I can’t sleep without holding you anymore and  I think I’m in love with you and that scares me more than zombies. But he couldn’t hear himself saying those kinds of things, couldn’t get Gita articulating his darkest fears out of his head. 

 

“You still haven’t,” Jack murmured. “I guess that’s an answer itself.”

 

“It is,” Eugene agreed. “But not the one you’re thinking.”

 

Jack’s jaw clenched, and Eugene could feel his shoulders tighten into slight tremors. He pulled his arm back and clasped his hands in his lap.

9

“I…” he began, and faltered. “I don’t answer that question because I don’t think it’s a real question. It’s like asking if I’d love you on Mars or if I met a more handsome ghost. A better option isn’t going to come along because  tomorrow probably isn’t going to come along.”

 

Jack’s shoulders sagged, but Eugene realized it was in defeat, not relief. 

 

“Why do you have to be like that?” he asked. “Can’t you just...I mean, I’m afraid...Gene, you like being right so much I’m scared you’re going to make sure we die.”

 

Eugene’s entire body went cold. He was dizzy with something--fear or rage or humiliation. He didn’t know what, exactly, just that Jack had said something that couldn’t be unsaid. He knew he’d remember it like an old wound forever.

 

“Well,” he said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. “If I’m such a danger to you, why don’t we split up.”

 

Jack bit into the heel of his hand and muffled a growl of frustration. “God  damn  it, Eugene, can you  stop ? I need something here. I need to know if you really want to be with me or if this is just convenient. If it is, fine, I’ve done that--that’s the only thing I’ve ever done, actually--but this feels so different and it’s probably just because of the zombies. But I still need to know what we’re doing because I’m still going to follow you and sleep with you and love you, but I just have to know what to do with it after.” 

 

The truth was, Eugene wasn’t sure himself. There was no after--and how could Jack not see that? But seeing Jack torn apart about this when there was so, so much more to worry about was unbearable

 

“Jack? Can you look at me?”

 

Jack turned slowly, with eyes more defeated than Eugene had ever seen. Eugene took his face in his hands and a deep breath.

 

“I think we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives, okay? I just...I just don’t think that’s going to be very long. I will fight down to my very last breath to stay alive and keep you safe and hear the next stupid thing you say, but...it’s easier for me this way. I don’t know what we’re looking for, and if we find it, I don’t know how it will turn out. So I just wake up every morning and look at everything like it’s the last time I’ll see it and I’m less afraid. You can’t be afraid of dying if you assume you’re already dead.”

 

Jack swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He wiped one cheek and coughed, looking away. “Eugene, that’s…” He paused, shook his head, clenched and unclenched W.G. “That’s the most ridiculously emo thing I’ve ever heard.”

 

Eugene groaned and shoved him, “Oh come on!”

 

“You’re so dramatic! ‘You can’t be afraid of dying if you’re already dead’?” Jack laughed, no air of mocking, just genuine hilarity. “Being dead really isn’t the problem here, is it?”

 

Eugene felt himself catching it and giggled. “Oh no. When I go grey I’m still coming after you.”

 

“Well, you do have a thing for zoms, don’t you?”

 

“Jaaaack,” he groaned in monotone. “I’m going to eat your aaaaaabs.” He flopped into Jack, stiff and uncoordinated.

 

“Nooo, ew, no stop!”

 

“You’ve got a nice aaaaaaaasss. Don’t eat that caaaaaandy it’s been on the floooooooor.”

 

“That was  one time! And it was a Curly Wurly.” 

 

“Jaaaack we don’t neeeeed--” Eugene covered his mouth and coughed. “Okay, no, never mind, I just grossed myself out there.”

 

“Do I want to know?”   


 

“You really, really, really don’t.”

  
  
  
  
  


“ [When the little blue bird](http://instantfm.com/p/ap7) who has never said a word starts to sing...spring” Joan Jett growled.

 

“Ready and 1...2...3...heave!” Eugene took two quick steps and flung the bar stool through the window. It shattered, and the swarm of undead surrounding the chemist’s shop across the way slowed, then stopped, then began to turn toward the broken window, music blasting out at top volume.

 

Eziki had checked the radio and found that they were definitely getting close. He’d heard complete sentences and, he shared reluctantly, some screams, followed by the operator shouting “Bring her in!” If they were close to the outpost, they reasoned, they must also be close to supply stocks. 

 

Gita, being the tiniest person Eugene had ever seen and astonishingly fast, ran a scout mission, trying to see which way they should go and what supplies they could get.  She’d discovered a largely intact village with an untouched chemist’s shop and sporting goods store. The problem was, about a dozen zombies had found it, too. Shawn gave them their orders: Jack and Eugene create a diversion while he and Eziki raid the shops. Gita was to be lookout on top of the pub.

 

“Oh shit, run!” Eugene yelped as the first of the horde began crawling through the window. Jack leapt onto a stool, then onto the bar and pulled Eugene up next to him as the music blasted. Jack struck a chord on W.G. as they waited for the advance.

 

“How do you even know this?” Eugene asked. “Aren’t you a little young for  Tank Girl ?”

 

Jack just winked. “Lock up your sons!”

 

“Here we go!” Eugene shouted, bringing the pipe down on an overweight man reaching for his leg.

 

Jack sang along, loudly. “And that’s why  birds (swing, crack) do it,  bees (kick, swipe, crack) do it, even educated  fleas (stomp) do it. Let’s do it! (smash, crack) Let’s fall in love!”  Jack danced between zombies, flailing, spinning, shimmying. 

 

“Oh my god, you’re (grunt, thud) the worst dancer I’ve ever (stomp) seen,” Eugene laughed, breathless.

 

“They say that roosters do it (jump, thunk) with a doodle and COCK!”

 

“Are you twerking on that nurse?”

 

“Oh! Now they sing in a round, do it with me!”

 

Eugene joined and danced through his own fight, trying not to notice Jack noticing him.

 

“Well look at your moves there! Pretty sexy for a Canadian.”

 

“Gotta stay warm somehow. Oh this part--”

 

“What’s the use of moth BALLS?” they shouted together, bringing down pipe and bat in unison.

 

“They’re in!” Eugene called. Eziki and Shawn had cleared the door of the chemist’s and bolted it.

 

Joan faded out and was replaced by a heavy, electronic beat. They fought through it, only pausing once for Jack to raise a hand and declare along with the music, “You’re from the 70’s, but I’m a 90’s bitch.”  

 

“I was not born in the 70’s,” Eugene groaned and shoved him.

 

More songs, more dancing, more blood. At last, when Eugene thought his legs and arms were going to drop off, they heard Gita announce, “All clear! Get out of there, boys!”

 

Jack reached back and grabbed two bottles--151 and vodka--and handed one to Eugene. “The floor,” he said, pouring the bottle out across the bar. Eugene dumped his own bottle then jumped down behind the bar. He grabbed a bottle of scotch and stashed it in the lining of his jacket. “Is lava!” Jack finished, dropping a match and leaping toward the back exit.  The bar lit up in an explosive burst of heat and blue flame, igniting the straggling zombies left in the bar and turning away the others.

 

Jack and Eugene burst through the back door in a heap. 

 

“You dance like you’re having a fit,” Eugene gasped.

 

“I let the spirit move me. That’s what dancing is,” Jack wheezed back. “Do I still have eyebrows?”

 

“How can I tell when you--” But he was interrupted by Gita’s shout of “JACK!”

 

Eugene had heard that time slows down when you’re afraid. That fighter pilots who had been shot down watched the ground approach lazily, giving them time to think and prepare. He didn’t disbelieve it, exactly, but he couldn’t imagine it. Until then. 

 

There was an entryway in the alley they hadn’t seen. A pitch-black alcove hidden among the skiffs and store backs, and as Jack staggered past, two grey, half-rotted bodies lunged to him from behind, grabbing his shirt and arms. They seemed to clamp down under water, and it took hours for Jack’s face to melt from laughter to shock to terror. Days passed, and Eugene finally moved. He swung mid-lunge but was off balance and just clipped the tattooed neck of the one holding Jack’s arm. It was enough to draw his attention. He lost his footing and fell to his back, pipe clanging to the ground out of reach

 

Beside him, W.G. hit the ground at Jack’s feet with an interminable clatter. Jack seemed to go limp and Eugene wondered what he’d missed--how he’d managed to be too late. But no-- Jack dropped into a crouch, minus his jumper, still clenched in putrid hands. He was up and around and standing astride Eugene more quickly than a human should be able to move. Despite his terror, Eugene felt a sense of giddy awe at the graceful twist of Jack swinging out, as seen from below. He was a giant, and an avenging angel, and so beautiful Eugene was sure he’d hit his head.

 

When the zombies lay in pieces, Jack pulled Eugene to his feet, eyes wide and hard, panting, teeth grinding.

 

“Oh thank--”

 

But Jack had already turned his back and was stalking away.

 

“What the hell is  wrong with you?” Jack roared down the alley. A few metres away, Shawn, Eziki, and Gita were standing blank-faced.

 

Jack swung W.G. with all his force into a pipe beside him. Eziki jumped. Shawn and Gita did not. “I asked you.  What the hell is wrong with you? You have knives and a fucking  bow and you just stand there like...like  god damn it! ” 

 

“It was an unsecured, narrow space. We couldn’t risk the rest of the team when we didn’t even know what the challenge was,” Shawn explained calmly. “All we would do is crowd you and possibly get ourselves attacked by other zombies.”

 

“And I didn’t have a guaranteed shot,” Gita added. “I could have shot you or Eugene just as easily as the zombies.”

 

“Jack,” Eugene said softly, laying cautious fingertips between his shoulders. Then his back was against the wall, Jack’s forearm pressing into his chest.

 

“And you! That, you  stupid suicidal idiot , is exactly what I was talking about.  I had it! I was fine! You nearly killed us both!”

 

“Oh yeah,” Eugene sneered.  “You were awesome. Just, you know, being held down by shamblers.”

 

“From behind,” Jack hissed.  “All I had to do was run forward and I’d outpace them immediately.” Jack let go of him and Eugene tried not to rub his sore chest. “But no! You have to make sure we go down in a blaze of bloody glory, don’t you? Eugene, the conquering hero. You just can’t wait for me to cry over your grave, can you?”

 

Eugene counted slowly to ten. “Okay, Jack? You need to calm down.”

 

Jack threw his bat, hard, into the wall. Eugene heard Gita gasp.

 

“No!” Jack shouted. “I’m tired of being calm! I’m tired of not crying! I’m tired of not punching you in your stupid face when you have it coming! You’re willing to die with me, but you won’t even entertain the thought of living with me. It’s bloody ridiculous and I’m sick of it.”

 

Shawn made a disgusted sound. “You two are really going to have a domestic right now? Well, have at it. It’ll be dark soon, and we’re going. Come with us or stay.”

 

“We’re not done,” Jack growled, picking up W.G. Eugene’s hands shook as he found his pipe and followed.

 

“See what I mean?” Gita muttered as they found a clearing for camping. “It’s a good way to get killed.”

 

  
  
  


Jack’s jumper was a loss, and, as the night fell, its absence made itself felt. There’d been signs of squatters in the village, Shawn said. Most useful things were missing, and some unrotted tins were scattered around the floor of the chemist’s. It made staying in the village far too dangerous, so they put as much distance as they could between themselves and the town, then settled in for the night in a picnic area. The crisp autumn had crept over into a hard, biting cold sometime in the last few weeks, and the smell of frost hung hard in the air. 

 

Shawn, Eziki, and Gita seemed comfortable in their polar jackets and sub-zero sleeping bags, and thermal blankets. Eugene, though, was miserable. If Jack were speaking to him, he’d probably say the same. At last, Eugene couldn’t watch Jack’s teeth chatter any more. He took his blankets and sat thigh to thigh with him. Jack pressed into him, desperate for warmth.

 

“Hey,” he said. “How you doing?”   


 

“Bit chilly,” Jack answered, and pulled his blanket around his ears. “Been through worse, though.”

 

“Have you really?” Eugene asked.

 

“No.”

 

“I’m freezing, too.”

 

“What, aren’t you used to this?”

 

“We actually have houses with heating in Canada, Jack. It’s not Siberia.”

 

“Not much for roughing it?”

 

“Do hotels without room service count?”

 

Jack huffed out a small laugh, then bit it back down. “I’m still upset,” he said. “But it’s too cold to talk properly now.”

 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

 

They sat silent for a long time and listened to Shawn, Eziki, and Gita make plans for the next day, the next week, the next year. He was so jealous of their optimism--but with them, he thought ruefully, it wasn’t exactly misplaced. He thought about Gita’s advice--thought about how much easier this all would be without any emotional ties to terrify him. But then Jack sniffled next to him, and his heart clenched so hard in affection that he realized there really was no going back. There was no way he would have made it this long alone. And it was ridiculous not to say it.

 

“Jack?” he said, voice shaking. “I...wait, Jack, are you awake?”

 

Jack raised his head sluggishly, eyes heavy. “ ‘m wake,” he said. “ ‘m fine. ‘s not so cold now, is it?”

 

It was then that Eugene noticed that Jack had stopped shivering. He sat still, eyes glazed, and let the blanket slide from his shoulders. He swayed gently in just his t-shirt. Eugene felt himself grow cold in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.

 

“Jack, talk to me--what’s...what’s your favorite song?”

 

Jack looked toward and past him. “Um I don’t know?” he slurred. “I like...where’s W.G.?”

 

“It’s right here--Jack, put your blanket back on.”

 

“Bit warm, actually.”

 

“Do it anyway,” Eugene said, jumping to his feet. “And stay here.”

 

Shawn, Eziki, and Gita were watching him with concern, having heard the last few exchanges.

 

“We have to build a fire,” Eugene said firmly.

 

“You know we can’t do that, Eugene,” Shawn said quietly. “The village--”

 

“I don’t care about the village! We’re freezing!” Eugene was desperate--he could already imagine waking up in the morning to Jack’s empty eyes. His graceful body stiff and cold.

 

“It’s just a few hours until morning and--”

 

“He’s not going to make it,” Eugene choked. “And I don’t think I will, either.”

 

The three looked at one another. Gita’s face was pinched in indecision, and Eziki’s eyes found the ground.

 

“I think we should have a fire,” Eziki said so softly Eugene could barely hear him. “We’re as well-armed as anyone. I don’t want to fight, but I know we can better than anyone we’ve seen.”

 

“And anyway, Shawn,” Gita added, “this sort of weather is in your blood. Us?” she gestured to herself and Eziki. “Not so much.”

 

Shawn sighed, but was smiling. “Well, I mean, if the  Canadian says it’s too cold, it must be damn cold. I’ll help you find wood.”

 

Within half an hour, they had a small but adequate fire going. Jack’s cheeks had pinked up a bit, and he seemed far more lucid, although he complained his fingers hurt. They tucked into tinned beans, and murmured conversations among themselves. 

 

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Eugene said.

 

“You didn’t do anything,” Jack answered around a bite.

 

“Yeah, I know. That’s the problem.” Eugene took a deep breath. “Jack....I--”

 

“Don’t,” Jack interrupted. “Please don’t say that right now. I shoved you into a wall and screamed in your face. I overreacted to you just trying to protect me. I really, really don’t want me being a hothead to be why you say...whatever it was you’re going to say.”

 

Eugene nodded. “That’s fair. I’ll wait until you’re being rational. Might be a long wait, though.”

 

Jack laughed. “You’re the worst serious boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

 

“Okay, but I’m also the best,” Eugene grinned. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

 

Jack smiled, almost shy, but so warmly Eugene couldn’t feel the cold at their backs. “Yes,” he said simply and leaned into him. Eugene could have kissed him for hours again, remembering that night in the rain. Tom Waits and and a tin roof would never sound the same. That night had been a risk--one worth taking, but a risk. One he wasn’t willing to take anymore. Not even for the lifesaving bliss of Jack’s mouth.

 

Even so, Eugene couldn’t breathe with how much he wanted to feel Jack’s skin, make him sigh, fall asleep beside him.  “I miss you,” he whispered against Jack’s lips as he leaned against his forehead.

 

“Me too, love,” Jack answered shakily. “So much.”

 

What happened next was never clear. He’s not sure what the first sign was.  A rustle of grass? A crunching leaf? Maybe it wasn’t until he heard choking, gagging, wet gasps that Eugene knew to look away, across the fire, and into startlingly human eyes. Jack was already leaping across the fire, W.G. in hand, crying out, by the time Eugene got to his feet. They saw five, maybe six shadows scatter, dragging supplies and backpacks and by the time it was over, four lay unconscious at their feet.

 

Shawn, Eziki, Gita...there was no saving them. They were, thankfully, already dead, peacefully bled out. Jack stalked around them, to the attackers and shored up his grip. “I guess we need to take care of this,” he said, trembling.

 

“No! I mean...we can’t just...we can’t kill people, Jack. We won’t be any better than them if we do.”

 

Jack blinked at him, “We can’t just--”

 

“We’ll tie them up,” Eugene said quickly. “We can just...we’ll tie them up and leave them.”

 

“Leave them for the zombies? That’s more humane than this?”

 

Eugene threw his hands up. “I  know but at least we won’t be the ones that did it!”

 

Jack watched him for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll get these two, you get those two.”

 

Eugene bound the first man, bundled in dark clothes, the best he could. He had a knot swelling onto his forehead where Eugene had struck him and his hands were slippery with blood.   The next man was heavier, bigger, and Eugene struggled to get the ropes tied behind him, so bound his hands in front, instead. He stood up to tell Jack he was finished, but before he could call out, he saw movement.

 

It didn’t hurt. Not at first. There was just pressure and damp and the feeling of being off balance. He looked and saw the man he’d just been tying up recoiling and attempting to scramble away. When he tried to chase him, his foot wouldn’t move--seemed to be stuck to the ground. He looked down, but couldn’t reconcile what he saw. A blade sticking out of his boot. Blood. The woozy prisoner struggling to his feet.

 

“Jack?” he said as though they were chatting across a kitchen table. He sank to the ground as the pain flashed over him.

 

But Jack wasn’t there. Jack was already at his side, W.G. flashing in the firelight and a series of cracks then thuds then just his staccato breathing.

 

“Jack?” he said again, weaker, confused. Jack’s head turned slowly, but there was no Jack looking back at him. His eyes were empty, savage. Although they still glowed amber and fern green, they were so much like the eyes in his dreams that he stifled a small cry. Jack’s body was tight, W.G. drawn back to swing, tense, ready. He held, though, watching Eugene, waiting, begging permission, like a hound waiting to be set after a fox. Eugene looked around at the pale, bloodied faces of their companions, down at his own ruined foot, up at Jack’s shuddery rage...and nodded.

 

He closed his eyes against the sight, but he would hear the sounds forever in his dreams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's Badass Zombie Killing Playlist: http://instantfm.com/p/ap7
> 
> Because my playlists tend to be heavily Angry Woman, and the nature of this whole thing is that the characters develop YOUR taste in music, I headcanon Jack as being really into angry girl rockers. I mean, you can see it, right? Right?


	8. If I Have to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein everything is awful. The End!
> 
> WARNING: Graphic poultry metaphor. No, seriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jyVZNrWkow
> 
> See the end notes for more playlists!

....sounds bad sounds far near...not bad sounds nearer wetdark run don’t run don’t go don’t go don’t go jack don’t--

 

“Jack, don’t go!”

 

through the window eugene face like cryingcoming _hurting_ no please leave don’t jack go don’t help help me help

 

“Jack, please, help.”

 

help help help

 

“Help me…”

 

And then it was all back. The cold and the dark and Eugene choking on his own pain, puddled in blood on the ground, begging him.

 

Jack made him beg.

 

“Eugene,” he gasped. “Eugene? Eugene!”

 

“Yeah, Jack, please, I need help…”

 

“Eugene,” he whimpered, dropping W.G. “Eugene…”

 

“We have to get out of here, Jack. We don’t know if there are others. We have to go and I can’t walk. You have to help me. Please.” Eugene was wide-eyed and panting, foot angled oddly, shaking. And that, at last, was enough.

 

“This is going to hurt so much,” Jack said, and before Eugene could process it, Jack grabbed the knife handle and yanked it out. Eugene bit his arm hard enough to break the skin, but it barely muffled his cries. Jack knew something--living or dead--would be on them soon. He stuffed as much as he could grab into the largest remaining pack, slung it on his back and pulled Eugene to his feet. “Go,” he said.

 

“I can’t walk, Jack, I--”

 

“I don’t care. Go.”

 

They moved quickly, even with Eugene clinging to him, gasping, nearly sobbing in pain. At last, they found a rock formation that blocked them in on three sides. It was something at least. He pulled out his knife and, grinding his teeth against Eugene’s pain, cut apart the boot laces and pulled it off. There was blood, dirt, gravel. “Okay...we have to clean it,” he said, desperately trying to sound, if not steady, then at least not about to scream. “We have--it looks like we have one bottle of alcohol left. I’m afraid this is going to hurt very, very much.”

 

Eugene pulled the bag closer to him and bit down hard on the strap to muffle his cries. Jack cleaned the best he could, trying to block out Eugene’s agony with the fear of infection. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over.

 

They sat through the night, neither sleeping. Jack just listened to Eugene muffle quiet sounds of pain and waited for dawn.

 

When it arrived, Jack checked Eugene’s foot, re-bound it, and pulled him up. “Have to keep moving, love,” he said.

 

“Moving where?” Eugene asked, more resigned than skeptical. “The ortho clinic? Stop off at the ER first? Get a round of antibiotics, maybe some crutches. How about a Xanax and some coffee to calm me down?”

 

Jack sighed. “What do you propose instead, Gene? Do you want to just sit down and die?”

 

“Well, yeah, kind of. Why the hell not? It’s over for me anyway.”

 

“But I don’t want it to be over for me, though. And I can’t have it be over for you but not me. So you have to come with me so I can go.”

 

Eugene clenched his jaw. “Fine. Whatever. We’ll go somewhere. Wherever.”

 

“We’ll follow the radio.”

  
  
  


“Hey Eugene,” Jack said, not letting himself stagger. “D’you suppose...at the bar we were at? The one where we distracted the zombies? D’you suppose when the outbreak happened that there was, um...Panic at the Disco?”

 

Eugene stopped walking and took a few labored breaths. He glared at Jack. “No,” he answered flatly. “I think they took their Limousines to the Churches like a bunch of Fleet Foxes. Next door, though, there was a pretty bad Arcade Fire.”

 

Jack shivered and grinned in relief and pulled Eugene a few more steps. “Well, all this could have been avoided if we’d just have listened to all those Manic Street Preachers. Instead we assumed they were Kooks practicing Bad Religion. I guess that’s one of the Pains of Being Pure at Heart.”

 

“Oh you know that Interpol knew. It was the biggest cover-up since Franz Ferdinand. It doesn’t take a Geographer to see they had a Cartel.”

 

“I don’t know, Gene. Um...if they did...they’d...uh? Store up food supplies? Like Mountain Goats?”

 

Eugene laughed, then gasped in pain. “Oh Jack, you lose. You lose so hard.  Can we--can we stop? Just for a little bit?”

 

“Yeah, sure..whatever you’d like. We should check in on that radio station anyway.”

 

Jack fiddled with the tuner, trying to hear something on either side of the signal. It was definitely getting stronger, but words were still patchy:

 

_“....waste power....I can see……..song? …..it’s the….collected?”_

 

Eugene’s eyes fluttered open when Jack began unwrapping his foot.  
  
“How’s it look?” he asked, not raising up.

 

“Bit red,” Jack said.

 

“Streaks?”

 

“Dunno. Hard to tell it’s so swollen. We cleaned it, though, so can’t be too infected, right?”

 

“We cleaned it with scotch, Jack. Scotch is primarily composed of what we were trying to clean out of it.”

 

Jack snorted. “You’re just put off it’s not some forty-five year old la-dee-da something with an unpronounceable name.”

 

Eugene just smiled in response, and it made Jack’s chest hurt. “How far out do you think we are? From the radio signal?” Eugene asked him.

 

“No idea. Maybe a few days? A week?”

 

“That’s not so far,” Eugene said to the sky.

  
  
  
  
  


Three days. That’s all it took for the infection to take him. Three days.

 

Seventy-two hours after the campfire, and Jack was sprawled trembling in the dirt with an unconscious Eugene next to him. Jack tried to push up on his elbows, but his arms shook too hard in exhaustion to hold him up anymore. Eugene’s breath hitched and he whimpered softly. “Jack? Jack? Are you gone now?”

 

Jack drew in as much breath as his lungs would hold and, with the last of his strength, reached his hand out to find Eugene’s neck. It burned with fever and froze with sweat. “I’m here, love.”

 

“I don’t like this place.”

 

Jack bit his lips hard from the inside and they bled where they cracked. He sucked air through his nose, muffling the hysterical sobs clawing at him. “I know. I don’t either...I just need a rest, okay? And we’ll go.”

 

“Can I sleep?” Eugene mumbled, turning his face down into the ground.

 

“Of course you can,” Jack whispered.

 

“Will I wake up?”  
  


“I dunno, love. Please do.”

 

But he didn’t. He breathed on, labored, pained, wailing in phantom agonies, but he didn’t wake up. After a sleepless night and a delirious morning, Jack lay staring at the sun.

 

“I’ll count ten, then I’ll get up,” he said to nothing. “1...2...3...4…” he moved his arms to his sides, bent his knees. “5...6...7…” He let his knees slide back out, the effort of it and the easiness of just lying there pinned him back. “8...9…” he sighed. The wind shifted, still cold, but tolerable in the sun. With it came the smell of something horrid. Something like he’d smelled in the early days, in stores and shacks and houses. He gagged and rolled to his hands and knees, feeling for W.G.  “Where are you?” he breathed. “I can smell you, you rotten monster. Where are you?” He staggered to his feet and sniffed the air, feeling the rage and the numbness prickle up the backs of his legs. He felt himself beginning to slip and shift into zombie mode when he placed it.

 

It was Eugene.

 

Jack pulled the bandages away and skidded back out of instinct. He rested his forehead and the ground, breathing slow and deep of the clean scent of dirt and grass and cold. He knew he was whimpering but what else could he do?

 

Eugene was absolutely going to die.

 

_Do something do something do something_ he whispered, maybe out loud, maybe in his head. He dragged himself back to Eugene and touched his face. It burned.

 

“Eugene?” He said, his voice too high. “Eugene wake up. Wake up. Wake up!”

 

Eugene’s eyes rolled open, unseeing, then slipped closed again. Jack breathed for a moment, through his mouth then all at once, with no thought, stood. He felt as strong as he ever had, though a little crazed.

 

“Oh god,” he said softly. “Oh god, oh my god, what am I going to do?” All at once, he knew. “Oh god. What am I going to have to do?”

 

He heaved Eugene into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around Eugene’s waist, letting his upper body fall across his back. He stood jerkily and clamped down hard around Eugene’s thighs. The movement made Eugene moan quietly, and Jack felt his shirt begin to grow wet. By now, Jack was panting, whether in exertion or panic, he couldn’t say. In the distance was a barn. Jack fixed his eyes, quieted the voices in his head, and one heavy step at a time, made his way there.

  
  
  
  


The ladder to the hayloft looked very, very sturdy. Thankfully. Maybe something was going to go right. A little. Jack didn’t know how he lugged himself and dead-weight Eugene up, but somehow he did and they were safe. From zombies. At least. Jack forced some water into Eugene’s mouth, and he seemed to wake a little.

 

“Dad?”

 

“No, love, it’s Jack.”

 

Eugene’s eyes looked toward him, unfocused. “I want my dad.”

 

“I’m sorry, he’s not here right now,” Jack said, laying Eugene out flat and opening his shirt.

 

“Will you get him?” Eugene asked, sounding very young. “I want my dad.”

 

“I’ll--” Jack choked, breathed. “I’ll get him. Don’t worry.”

 

“You can call him.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve...I already have done. He’s on his way. He’ll be here soon, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Just...rest?”

 

Eugene didn’t answer, just closed his eyes again and breathed shallowly.

 

Jack continued opening Eugene’s clothes, using the machete to cut off his jeans, which made Eugene call out in pain.  Jack thought, then opened up the large window in the loft and ground his teeth against the cold wind. Eugene shivered and whined, so Jack sat next to him and stroked his hair.

 

“Blanket?” Eugene asked softly.

 

“Sorry,” Jack said, working a pocket knife out of his bag. “You’ve got a bit of a fever. We need to keep you cool.”

 

“My dad will give me a blanket.”

 

“Yes, he will, I promise. Just stay awake for a minute, okay?” He grunted as he worked the tip of the small knife under the edge of the tape on W.G.

 

“Don’t want to.”

 

“Please,” Jack begged. “Just stay awake a few more minutes, okay?” The tape split enough for him to wedge the knife in properly and really pull at it.  Eugene closed his eyes again, so Jack worked faster.  At last, he had a slit from end to end and started pulling it away. It came off in pieces, gooey and filthy at first, then more and more unsullied.

 

“Oh please, please, please,” Jack whispered as he found a tiny corner of plastic wrap protruding from two layers. He ripped at it faster until he had two halves taken apart, separated by a pocket of plastic. Inside, completely improbably pristine sat two small, lavender tablets with a cupcake impressed into them.

 

Jack’s heart lurched so hard he felt dizzy. He barked out a euphoric, hysterical laugh and clutched them.

 

“Oh thank you. Thank you thank you thank you,” he giggled.  “Eugene,” he said, cupping his head. “Eugene, I’ve got something for you.”

 

“Not hungry,” he murmured.

 

“Shh, no, listen, it’s medicine. It’s going to make you feel so much better.”  Jack pulled him more upright and picked up the pills in his free hand. “Open up and take a swallow. Nurse Mandy is going to take such good care of you, my love.”

 

Eugene grimaced and turned away. “Is it gross?”

 

Jack grinned into his hair. “Oh no. It’s candy.”

  
  
  
  
  


W.G. felt naked in his hand, but he didn’t hear or see anything near. He had a bundle of wood under his arm and was sprinting back to the barn. He didn’t have much time, if he was going to do this. Oh god, he was going to do this. Moments later, he had a small fire going in a brick ring on the ground floor of the barn. He was probably going to burn the whole place down. Oh well.

 

He held his blades steady in the flame. First the machete, then the pocket knife, though it singed his fingers.  It burned them both clean. His heart began to slow and he was so much calmer than he’d been in a very long time. There was peace in helplessness. No decisions to be made because nothing else could be done. Nothing at stake, because really it was all just die now or die later. He was hoping for later, but, well. Better now and fast if it came to that. He couldn’t watch Eugene rot away, that much was certain. All that was left was this.

 

Back up the ladder, back to Eugene with his eyes wide, irises gone.

 

“Hi Jack,” he said with a small smile. “Can you hand me some water? I’m thirsty.”

 

“I’ll bet you are,” Jack said, helping him drink.

 

Eugene dragged one hand across the floor slowly. “I feel weird.”

 

“Good weird or bad weird?” Jack asked, laying his blades gently on a cleanish cloth.

 

“Yes. What are you doing?”

 

“I’m, uh…” Jack paused. “Say, you know I’m an artist, right?”

 

“You’re beautiful.”

 

“Right, thanks. So what about some new body art? To commemorate our journey?”

 

Eugene grinned. “That sounds good. Do something pretty.”

 

Jack swallowed and tried not to shake. “Of course. I’ll...it’ll be good. I’m going to do it on your knee, though, so it’s probably going to hurt quite a lot actually. Bone and all.”

 

Eugene reached a hand out to him and Jack took it. “I don’t mind. Just touch me.”

 

Jack could only nod and clench his jaw until he heard his teeth grind. It was so unfair. This was not supposed to happen like this way. They should be rolling together, drowning in music and lights and the ecstatic feeling of each other’s bodies whole and healthy.

 

He tied a strip of cloth as tight as he could just above Eugene’s knee and froze, no idea what to do next.

 

“Eugene?” he asked as calmly as he could manage. “Chat with me while I do this?”

 

“Sure,” Eugene said, rubbing his thumb slowly over the tips of his other fingers.

 

“Have you--With your foodie stuff--did you ever--have you ever had to, um, cut something up? Like an animal?”

 

Eugene scoffed. “Well yeah. Of course. Everyone can cut up a chicken.”

 

“I can’t,” Jack said, willing his hands steady. “Tell me how?”

 

Eugene concentrated. “Well, first you have to take the legs off. It’s kind of gross, actually. You have to pull on them until you hear them pop so you can see where the joint is.”

 

Jack had never fainted in his life. He’d been knocked unconscious, he’d passed out, but he’d never _fainted_. He wasn’t going to start now. He bit nearly through his lip and reached out.

 

“Ow?” Eugene said. “What are you--”

 

“So what then?” Jack asked. “What do you do next?”

 

Eugene shifted. “Okay, so when you see where the joint is, you cut the skin. It helps to pull it tight so it comes apart easy. Get through that and a little muscle and you should--fuck, Jack, this better be awesome--you should be able to see the bones and the joint and if you’re lucky, the tendons.”

 

Jack raised his head as high as he could, trying to catch some of the cold air coming in through the window and choked.  “Sorry sorry sorry” he whispered.

 

Eugene cried out in pain. “Jack jesus, how much longer?”

 

Jack shook his head.  “Keep going.” He didn’t know which one of them he was talking to.

 

“So,” Eugene hissed through his teeth. “So now you get your knife in there and cut through the fat line and the tendons then--Jack! Oh god, stop” he sobbed.

 

“ _Don’t stop!”_

 

“You--oh no, you--no, Jack Jack Jack, no--”

 

“ _Please!”_

 

“You cut through the other side of the skin and that’s it. You move on.”

 

Jack’s face crumpled and he nearly sobbed, but pulled it back. Eugene did not and in moments it was done. He crawled up to Eugene’s face and clenched it in both hands. Eugene was quiet and still, eyes looking far away, blinking slower and slower.

 

“You’re going to be okay, Eugene. You’re going to be okay now,” he cried.

 

Eugene just looked at him and smiled softly. “Maybe.”

 

Jack rested his forehead against Eugene’s and kissed him. “I love you,” he whispered.

 

Eugene pulled back enough to see Jack’s face.  “I know,” he said with a ghost of a smirk. His eyes slipped closed and his body went limp.

 

Jack held him and laughed, near hysteria.  “Oh, you sodding--” As the fear crested and broke, Jack felt his entire body shudder and he flung himself at the window, heaving out onto the cold ground below.  With his stomach, he also emptied the last of his strength. Every emotion came out of his body along with his breakfast and Jack found himself numb and empty. Eugene lay motionless but breathing and Jack just sat with his back against the wall, staring at his work. He sighed and realized he wasn’t done.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It’d been full dark for hours, but with the pick and the spade he’d found in the barn, Jack dug on. The hole had been large enough for the bundle next to him ages ago, but he kept digging. By the time the moon had crossed the sky, it had expanded enough to curl into, and by dawn, it was big enough for two. As the sun broke over the treeline, Jack stopped mid-scoop, dropped his tools, and dragged back inside.

 

Okay, he thought, I can cry now.

 

But nothing came. He stared at the ladder and watched it grow infinite and felt nothing at all.

 

Eugene was still asleep (asleep, yes, asleep Jack thought frantically) in the loft, breath coming more evenly than it had been when Jack had gone outside. Jack slipped under the blankets and lay his head down on Eugene’s warmth. He listened to the quiet, rapid thud, hoping that when the heart under his ear slowed and then stopped, the one in his chest would have the good sense to follow.

  
  
  
  
  


“There’s a grave...it’s new...very new.”

 

Jack blinked in the sunlight and reached for the radio. He thought he’d turned it off? But he was clearly hearing voices.

 

“No, no. I’ll be careful. I’ve got to get away from that herd, though.”

 

He gasped and sat up. That wasn’t a radio.  The barn door creaked open as Jack stared in confusion. He could see a woman in running gear silhouetted against the bright, noon sun. They locked eyes and the woman froze, then said gently, like to a an injured dog, “Hullo there. Is that...Is that yours outside?”

 

Jack nodded very slightly and curled his hand around Eugene’s arm.

 

“It’s okay, Sam. It’s nothing, just--I know, I’m fine--” she stage whispered into, what Jack now saw was a headset.

 

“Sam?” Jack said, voice breaking.

 

The woman started, then smiled, her hands raising very slightly, fingers splayed, like she was going to try to pet him. “Yes. Yes, Sam. Sam is my operator. He keeps me safe. We’re from Abel Township--it’s a few miles north of here. Are you...are you okay?”

 

“I know Sam,” Jack said. “He’s on the radio.”

 

The woman looked surprised. “Yes...yes Sam is on the radio. Are you from…?”

 

“I have one.  A radio.” Jack held up the radio for her to see. “We listened to you. Me and Eugene.”

 

The woman’s brow lifted in sadness. “Oh...was...is that outside...is that for Eugene?”

 

“Just his leg,” Jack said quietly. “For now.”

 

The woman nodded and swallowed. “Oh. Okay...I--”

 

Her sentence ended in a scream and a greying hand reached into her long braids. Ignoring the pins and needles in his sleeping legs, Jack grabbed W.G. and leapt down from the loft. The woman twisted in the zombie’s arms, slipping back and down, only to be held firm by the face. Sharp nails dug into her cheek as W.G. connected with the zombie’s face. It fell back, taking the woman with it. Jack pulled her free and brought the bat down again and again and again until there was nothing left to hit. In the distance, he could hear tinny shouts from a desperate man through the headset.

 

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” the woman shouted. “He--there’s the man--he helped me, he got it, I’m…” Her voice drifted off as she touched her face. Jack knelt next to her and pulled her fingers away to see them bloodied from three deep scratches in her cheek.

 

“ _Five? Runner five, tell me what’s going on! Damnit, Mia, what’s happening?_ ”

 

She stared at Jack, in complete terror. She raised a trembling hand again, and Jack just nodded sadly. Her face crumpled and she began to cry.

 

“ _Mia! Mia! Please, for God’s sake Mia, answer me!_ ”

 

She reached up, removed the headset and handed it to Jack. He took it carefully and raised the earpiece.

 

“Hel-hello?” He said.

 

“ _Who the hell is this?_ ” the voice on the other end shouted. “ _Where’s Runner Five? What have you done to her?_ ”

 

“I’m…I’m Jack. I didn’t...She’s been scratched. By one of them. Do scratches count?”

 

The dead air between them threaded out into forever before the voice--Sam--came back, shaky.

 

“I...I don’t know, Jack. I think it just depends. I...will you bring her in? Please?”

 

Jack looked back up into the barn at Eugene, breathing steady. He had stirred while they fought, and his eyes began to blink open.

 

“Yeah, I can bring her. It’s just...I’m not alone.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Everything hurt. Everything. His back, his leg, his head. His leg. Eugene pried his eyes open, sensing someone standing over him breathing gently in the quiet. It was dim and smelled like rubbing alcohol and...Jack.

 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Jack tried to grin, but collapsed his face into Eugene’s sheet-covered chest and sobbed heavy and deep, clutching him so hard it hurt.

 

“Careful there,” a woman in a lab coat warned gently. “He’s probably in a lot of pain right now.”

 

Eugene looked around, frantic. “What…?”

 

Jack sat up, hiccupping, but trying hard to find some semblance of composure, and took his hand.

 

“Hello, Eugene,” the woman said in a slow American accent. “My  name is Maxine. I’m a doctor, and you’re at Abel Township.”

 

Something felt very, very wrong. “What happened? What happened to me? Jack?”

 

Jack bit his lips and shook his head.

 

“What happened is that you’re alive, Mr. Woods,” the doctor said.

 

“Did I? Was I bitten?” Eugene touched his chest and breathed, feeling for a cough.

 

“No,” Jack said, at last. “You weren’t bitten. You weren’t bitten and you’re alive and you’re going to be just fine. We’re safe here. They’re letting us stay.”

 

The doctor--Maxine--stood a little closer  to him. “You were stabbed in the foot--do you remember that?”

 

Eugene nodded, nauseated, feeling everything swim back one dark trickle at a time. The fire. The kiss. The pain. The screams. Jack…

 

“Oh god, Jack,” he gasped. “Oh god, what did you do?” Jack looked away, shoulders dropping.

 

“He saved you,” Maxine said firmly. “That’s all that matters. I’m going to leave you two alone for a few minutes, then I’ll be back to do some assessments.”

 

She swept away and Eugene was left staring at Jack’s profile, so much sadder than he’d ever seen. Even after his mother, even after Zach.

 

“I’ve...I’ve done terrible things, Eugene,” he said softly. “I--”

 

“Jack Holden, if you apologize right now, I’m going to kick your ass.” Jack blinked at him, then smiled carefully.  “I know what you did. You killed people. Bad people. For me. I don’t know what else happened, but I know one thing: you are amazing and I love you.” He choked. “I love you so much, Jack. God, I…”

 

Jack hugged him hard, burying his face in the curve of his neck. “I know,” he whispered with some charming mixture of a giggle and a sob. Jack kissed his lips so, so gently. “I love you, too. I’ll love you for the rest of our lives.”

 

Eugene smiled and pushed Jack’s hair back from his face with one shaking hand. His eyes were red and swollen and ringed in dark. His lips were cracked and split, his face the sick pale of spoiled milk under his freckles, his cheekbones too sharp from hunger. He was the so, so beautiful.

 

“I think…” Eugene said carefully. “I think that’s going to be a  while.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! We finished! I cannot express enough love in the world for Nielrian and What-Larks-Pip. They are my light, my life, my love. Also thanks to the ZR community. My god, you are the kindest fandom there has ever been and I've loved every one of you. 
> 
> PLAYLISTS:
> 
> I cannot write without music, so I'm going to share a couple of playlists!
> 
> The Beginners' Guide to Tom Waits  
> http://instantfm.com/p/b92
> 
> Alternate writing playlist per chapter (what I use to get a consistent "feel" to a chapter). Often soppy, often terrible. Oh well.
> 
> http://instantfm.com/p/b93
> 
> Ch. 1:  
>  "We Found Love" by Forever the Sickest Kids --Thanks, Nielrian!  
> (We found love in a hopeless place...)
> 
> Ch. 2:  
>  "Say" by John Mayer  
> (Take all of your so-called problems, better put them in quotations)
> 
> "Life in a Northern Town" by Dream Academy  
> (They sat on the stony ground and he took a cigarette out)
> 
> Ch. 3:  
>  "The Mother We Share" by Chvrches  
> (In the dead of night, I'm the only one here, and I will cover you until you go)
> 
> "Shirtsleeves" by Ed Sheeran  
> (When salted tears won't dry, I'll wipe my shirtsleeves under your eyes)
> 
> Ch. 4:  
>  "I'll Be" by Edwin McCain--thanks Nielrian!  
> (Rain falls angry on the tin roof...)
> 
> "Foolish Heart" by Steve Perry  
> (You've been wrong before: don't be wrong anymore)
> 
> Ch. 5  
> "Say Something" by A Great Big World  
> (I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you...)
> 
> Ch. 6  
>  "Tenerife Sea" by Ed Sheeran  
> (Should this be the last thing I see, I want you to know it's enough for me)
> 
> Ch. 7   
> Jack's Zombie Killing Playlist (see the chapter)
> 
> Ch. 8  
> "Gone Gone Gone" by Phillip Phillips  
> (When enemies are at your door, I'll carry you away from war, if you need help)
> 
> ("Say Something" reprise)
> 
> "Somewhere Only We Know" by Darren Criss and the Warblers  
> (Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?)
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr! badmotherflanner.tumblr.com


End file.
